#i was thinking about mind freakers a bit

[rotomartsblog]

I think one of the main flaws in camp camp fanworks that focuses on Harrison is misunderstanding his situation with his parents

Forgive me if I’m wrong, but from what we see in Parents’ Day, Harrison’s behaviour indicates that before his brother disappeared, his parents were relatively normal. He approaches them without worry or hesitation and when they respond with fear, he says “Oh, still doing that, huh?” I think this is a clear sign that growing up, Harrison had a regular family dynamic. The disappearance of his brother was probably more recent than most people portray it to be if Harrison still isn’t used to the change of his parents’ relationship with him

Of course, his parents probably weren’t perfect. According to Harrison himself in Quest To Sleepy Peak Peak, his mother told him he’d grow into his looks, which would imply that Harrison has been insecure about his appearance and instead of reassuring him his mother said he’d ’grow into it’. Not exactly the best response to a child worrying about their looks. That’s not to mention his emotional problems such as his over-the-top reaction to his magic being questioned in Mind Freakers

But with all that, the fanworks I’ve seen, Harrison’s home life is often portrayed as awful for his entire life, or at least since he presented any magical abilities. Sometimes it’s even near neglectful or downright abusive. It’s a bit of a shame because I think there’s something more tragic and interesting about Harrison growing up in a regular family and, all of a sudden, the whole dynamic of the household gets irreversibly changed because of something he did

[soliddaddy96]

3, 4, 6, 8 for reigen :3

oh heavens the freaker ... the jerkr

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

i rememebr i wrote this down somewhere but 2 me he realized he was queer of some sort when he went to one of his sisters friends quinceanera and made out w the birthday girls older cousin behind the venue ... this was when he was like , a highschooler in arizona still . after this he was liek Hmm i think somethings up . he didnt act on these feelings until he was hitchhiking to jess' apartment like years later tho ..... not much else 2 think abt besides how you might be gay for your friendon the open road and such .

with his gender i think he always kindve knew , early on his dad kindve picked up on it and went "heyy y. i dont mind if you ... experiment . with your gender . yoru still my kid all the same 😁" to rei who, at the time, went "? Ok (doesnt think about this encounter until years later)". its also a main reason (2 me ) as to why connor bullied him a bit - in my brain milwaukee is a pretty ... closed minded town , so its only natural people would spread their bigotry onto their children < which is why when connor saw how rei was like "im a MAN" but (in connors mind) didnt make any "real" effort into presenting masc , he 1 thought rei was just doing it for attention and 2 sought out to "fix" him ....... < cornering him and cutting his hair along w just. General torment

4. Is your oc's environment supportive about their identity? How does this impact them?

until he was around middleschool he only really had the support of his dad < his mother being a devout catholic whereas his dad was laid back and also queer himself . after he died and they moved back to arizona rei just kindve caved in on himself and gave up on any presentation gender or sexuality wise ... until one day he felt too suffocated by it all nd went back to the one place he ever really Did feel accepted < milwaukeeeeee 😁and by extension jess nd ashe . the latter i dont know if they met later but i think their presence helps rei greatly ... nervous cheetah and emotional support dog type thang . when hes back w the gang he feels pretty comfortable w them and while he still has his moments of doubt from time to time he still feels confident that theyll never judge him (which they wouldnt thankfully). ave maria

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

he would rather be gutted like a fish than talk about labels ... i dont think he feels all that comfortable w himself to say hes for sure gay ... and as for being trans , he keeps that shit LOCKED UP !!! very stealth with it ... even if being called a woman bothers him hed rather just take it and smile than out himself and risk being harassed . as he gets older he just stops gaf. i think hed just call ashe up randomly one day nd go "Hey .im gay." and then just hang up . theyd understand

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

hes the prime struggler and transgender allegory ... if hes not actively repressing his feelings for guys then hes trying as hard as he can to come off as a cis guy . i think it stems from the hostile environment milwaukee generally is as well as internal stuff < after his dads passing his mom blamed his homosexuality for it and deemed him a sinner ... her side of the family also just talked shit abt him a lot 😭this diswayed rei Greatly from ever being open . even in his 20s i think despite him being more cool w being gay nd stuff hed still be a little nervous ... i dont think his anxiousness abt it would ever go away for realsies , but with time he wouldnt think abt it too much 👍

AVE MARIA can youtell i want him dead

[ashdash2417]

Camp Camp Headcannon #3:

Camp Campbell makes good breakfasts, but horrible dinners, for some reason.

[campcampfanfan]

Ranking every CC episode (except the specials)

You read the title! Every episode except the specials will be ranked here and now, by your truly. TW for swearing. Also, spoilers, obviously. Remeber these are all my opinions, and enjoy!

Episodes I don’t like too much/ Don’t watch:

54:The Candy Kingpin

I know, I know, probably an unpopular take. I don’t really like Dolph, and think the series could have done without his whole… thing. I like him as a character, sorta, but I also don’t really like him. I honestly forgot this episode even existed until I looked it up, and the only thing I remember was Gwen and David’s conversation. The whole story was… eh? Whatever, it was still fine-ish in the long run.

53: Reigny Day

Enough said. Everyone’s lowkey kind of a jerk in this episode, except for Neil and Max for like two seconds.Also, Dolph jokes. Don’t like it.

52:Cameron Campbell the Campbell Camper

This one was pretty meh. I, once again, didn’t remember it existed until I looked it up. It wasn’t Cam’s best episode (I’ll get to that later), and it was kinda bland. Bland doesn’t mean bad though, but it just wasn’t the best. Only thing I remember was the wholesome Dadvid moment and Max saying a funny line. Enough said about that.

51: Anti Social Network

Now, I wasn’t too sure where to put this, because this was in theory a good episode. I just don’t like it. I’m not sure why, but Max being a tiny perv is very funny to me, because that is exactly what a ten year old is like. I just didn’t really find it interesting or catching my attention, but it wasn’t a bad episode.

50: The Order of the Sparrow

I get why you like this, I totally get it. It’s funny and lots of Dadvid, plus Gwen singing for the first time. Honestly, Gwen singing and David’s mental breakdown is what got this higher than Anti Social Network, but it’s still racist. I get it, it’s comedy, but it’s still really… interesting. I know the CC people are trying their best, and it’s a delicate balance, but I still skip over the first few minutes.

49: Jeremy Fartz

We love a hilarious mess up, Max cursing, and David making fun of someone, but it’s also a really awkward episode? Like, it makes for a really good backstory for Jeremy and joining the Woodscouts, but it’s such an odd episode. Not bad, just odd. Whatever, I still like it. Sorta….

48: Fashion Victims

Oh boy, Russian Waifu comes back. I love Ainsley, she’s my precious baby and Max’s purified Doppelganger, and I love her so much. But Sasha’s not my favorite character in the show, and she got especially mean in this episode. I love the whole Vera thing, but really dislike this one. I watch it once in a while, but not too often. Also, we love positivity from Tabii and Erin.

47:Time Crapsules

We love Gwen blushing, improvement from Max, and making fun of baseball. But this episode really hit me with second hand embarrassment for both Gwen and Max. You know when you can’t sit through an episode without getting second hand embarrassment? Yup, that’s this one. I wanted the guy coming through the door to be David and I’m salty, ok? This is my list, and we stan Gwenvid on this account.

46:Campfire Tales

Dolph’s story was boring, Space Kid was great, We love ghost parents. We l o v e Slenderman! AU David in this household, and I want to see more of them. Oh yeah, outfits were great. Max is a baby in this episode, and I love his fear because it makes you see that he really is a little boy with feelings. I also laugh at everyone’s faces after Space Kid’s story.

Ok Episodes/ Ones I do like:

45:Preston Goodplay’s Goodplay

Oooooo, this is a tough one. I love Preston as a character, because I too am a theatre kid who dislikes most people and wants to be famous for her storytelling. I can relate. I love how David talks to him, and how Preston comes to his realization that he doesn’t need to please everyone. Also, canon French Speaking! David is canon. Amazing. He’s still Candian! Anyway, Clown College was odd, but whatever, I can roll with it.

44: The Quarter Moon Convergence

We totally saw Zemug and no one said anything. No one! Why was no one talking about this! We saw the elder god! Anyways, I love Harrison and Quartermaster working together. It’s funny, it’s clever, and I want to see more of it. I do not like the subplot with the other characters, and it really took me out of the main story. Other than that, pretty interesting idea, and I love my pure magic boy!

43:Who Peed in the Lake

Ew. That’s all I need to say about it. It’s extremely funny, I like the motives, and I love detective Max. However, Nikki and the final answer are disgusting in this episode. It gross, it’s gross, it’s gross, but it’s so funny. I know I have the humor of an eight year old, I don’t care.

42:New Adventure

I love how this episode was played out. Funny, clever, and overall pretty ok. Plus, guess who shows up? Dirty Kevin, my friends! Best trash boy :)

Overall pretty good! Not too many complaints, but not too many great things either.

41:The Fun Raiser

Hmmm… This was an… interesting episode. David and Gwen scheming is my new religion, and they are both idiots. Who the hell thought this plan was a good idea? David? I mean, he’s a little bit dipsy, but has SOME common sense. Gwen? Maybe, but you know, she’s logical. You know what? I’m being too picky. I love my dumbasses, they are the best. Also, Gwen sitting on David is everything I love in my life and everything I need. Harrison makes a very good point, Nikki probably found Jasper’s skull, and Max is my scheming child. Whatever, eh episode, love the plot, but I have cringed at it.

40: Foreign Exchange Students

Like I’ve said before, this episode is out of place. It’s not bad, it’s just… blandish. I know, I know, Russian Waifu was in it, but this episode was only ok. I love Vera and Brian, and the ending is super funny, but other than that, eh episode.

39:Attack of the Nurfs

I honest to gods forgot this episode existed. I ended up rewatching it, and had a few good laughs. Gwen in this episode, for the little time she appears, is so funny. David’s sparkle eyes always make me laugh, and Max ends up making me laugh most of all. Nurf takes “talking to yourself” to a whole new level, and I relate my man. Get that therapy!

38:Camp Cool Kidz

This episode is eh....? I love my tiny rebellious children, but I really hate Ered in this episode. It just feels… so unlike her. I get it, it’s the start of her ark, but really and truly I disliked her character in this episode. On the other hand, Nikki is me trying to flirt with other women. She’s my little baby Pansexual, and I love her to death. Honestly, I really enjoy Nikki episodes, so yeah. Also, the literal moment I began to love Gwen with the “Stab her bitch!” line.

37:Quest to Sleepy Peak Peak

Honestly, I almost never watch this episode, but I still really like it. Nerris’s lines, the battle between two magic folk, the one liners, the ending, oh it was really good. However, some of the parts were boring, it’s not the best, but it’s still pretty good. Whatever, I like Nerrison and magic, so boom.

36:Escape from Camp Campbell

Honestly, what a classic. First episode, Gwen being overall great, “No Running”, Max being a  tiny Satan, Nikki and Neil being amazing. But, once again, it’s the first episode, which means some things aren’t the best. But! I do enjoy this one, and watch it sometimes.

35:Mind Freakers

Eh… It’s pretty ok. We love Harrison and Neil being jerks to each other, and we love Max having an identity crisis, but all I could really think through this was “Poor Max” and “This is a really stupid and petty fight”. It really is petty, which isn’t bad, but I feel like ti was an odd episode. Not bad, I thoroughly enjoy it, I just couldn’t swallow normal for a few days….

One I really like/ Second highest ranking:

34:Romeo and Juliet 2: Love Resurrected

Bon Bon~! Yay! We love David for having a Tinder, for Max’s amazing performance, and the drama! That being said, it’s overall a pretty good episode! Not the best, but pretty good!

33:Mascot

Welp, I feel like you all know what I’m getting at. The jokes are well landed, Muack appears for the first time ( and steals the show, and that’s the tea), and my girl Nikki is so precious. Quartermaster is weird as hell, and speaking of which…

32: Quartermaster Appreciation Day

I know, it’s gross, it’s weird, I hate the relationship almost as much as I can, but this episode is so freaking funny. So many of the jokes are well timed, some classic lines come from this episode, and Quartermaster being his weird self is a major playing factor.

31: Space Camp was a hoax

More Gwen and David being two idiots sharing one brain cell? Hell yes, lay it on me. Space Kid is so funny, and his inner dialouge is fantastic. Also, Nikki cursing is incredible, even if it isn’t really on screen. Gwen’s line “Is this what success feels like?” is a major mood, and I just generally think it’s a good episode.

30: Ered gets her cool back

We love Nerris and Ered’s relationship in this household, ok? Older sporty sister spends time with dorky younger sister who has more common sense? Bigger sister gets better at being with other people and learns a lot form the experience? Nikki”s outfit? All major amazing things I love in this episode. But, the plot was a little eh, and I got second hand embarrassment.

29:Jasper dies at the end

All I have to say is H O O E Y

28:Cameron Campbell can’t handle the truth serum

Dolph’s autstic? Oh, ok, that’s pretty cool! We love representation. Anyways, this was an odd episode. Not good, not bad, just… odd. The therapy and plant jokes made my dad have to come in and check on me because I was laughing so loud, and most of the other jokes hit well. But it was… eh plot wise. It was pretty good joke wise though!

27:Journey to Spooky Island

Jasper, Quartermaster’s ahem… thing, and Max screaming were the best things in this episode. This episode is pretty great if I do say so myself, but this is ranked lower because I did not need to imagine Quartermaster like that. Excuse while I go burn out my eyeballs.

26: Camporee

Fuck Pikeman. All my homies hate Pikeman. No seriously, he is my least favorite character on the show. His sexism and gross advances really get to me, and the way he treats Gwen is disgusting. Now I have that out of the way, I actually enjoyed this episode, except for Pikeman. Hot take, I know. I’ve seen the Pikeman X Reader stuff on Wattpad. Whatever, back to the topic. Episode was good overall, especially the lesson. Each person’s talents were fantastic, and the ending itself was great. 

25:Camp Corp

We stan business Gwen and her telling Nancy to shut up.I love the plot, forcing three people who usually don’t work together to solve a common problem. I love that, and it does make for an interesting story. However, there are some flaws to the episode, but it’s overall pretty fantastic!

24:Follow the Leader

Are you kidding me? This was a great idea. Funny, creative, inventive, and overall pretty good. Playing with how each character leads was a great idea, and very inventive to give them all a common goal. Why it’s so low is personal pettiness. Pikeman, and Jasper was probably on the island when it blew up.

23:Squirrel Camp

Why is this so high up? *Looks at notes* Oh yeah, it’s so stupid I actually like it. No, but for real though, I know people don’t like this one as much as I do, but I think it’s pretty funny. Sure, dumb idea and kind of mediocore, but to me it’s so fun and entertaining. I’m sorry if you don’t agree, but you can make your own list if you’d like. It’s such a weird plot it’s entertaining. You get me?

22:Panicked Room

I just really like this episode, no rhyme or reason. It’s really funny and romantic, and the interactions were so good. David and Gwen through this episode were amazing for the mere seconds they were on screen, but it was overall pretty good!

21: City Survival

I couldn’t remember much of what happened in this so I ended up rewatching it. We love Dirty Kevin, David’s reaction to the city, and David being a homeless twink. Gwen also has the fancy outfit in this episode, and I am all for that.

20: Cookin Cookies

Three girls accidentally start a meth lab and go all breaking bad? Hell yes.It’s funny, the completion of everyone getting father figures, and it’s an overall good idea. It’s creative, good, it’s amazing. I really wanted to know what the main three were doing though, I’m actually kinda curious. Anyways, good story, and very enjoyable.

19:Keep the change

I found this episode very entertaining! Dadvid, Campbell getting better, funny moments, and a good plot! It’s really a great episode, and establishes what the season will be about. In fact, I believe I have themes for all the seasons:

Season 1:Beginnings

Season 2: Family

Season 3:Friends

Season 4: Change

18:Parent’s Day

Ok, Ok, know, Dadvid, but really I feel like this episode is a tiny bit overhyped. I love the Dadvid, Candy and Carl (Except I really don’t ship Neil/Nikki anymore), and how Max’s … situation is handled. Yes, I am on the side of thinking Max’s parents are abusive or at least ignorant. They just don’t care, and that’s where Max’s attitude comes from. It was well handled, and I very much like this episode.

17:Dial M for Jasper

I love Jasper with all of my heart, and watching his backstory was both heartbreaking and amazing. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Watching it made me hate Campbell more than I did, and I expect the episode where David finds out about Jasper would be heartbreaking. David most likely screams and curses at Campbell, and takes off. I’m hoping Gwen runs after him, but that’s wishful thinking.\

16:David gets hard

The ending is amazing, I love learning about Nurf’s trauma, and watching Gwen,Max, and David scheming is incredible. It was interesting to see Nurf's side of the story, and it was pretty good. Enough said.

15:Cult Camp

Yes, it is high. The song is amazing, the plot is amazing, and Daniel’s stupidity is amazing. He is a very good villain, and it works with the comedy of the show. If everyone wants, I will write an essay on Daniel and what he means to the show. Anyways, good episode, funny and inventive.

14:Bounjour Bonqueesha

Oh, what to say about this episode! I love Bon Bon, but her breaking up with David an hour before their date? Not so cool. Whatever. Watching Gwen comfort David made my day, my week, my month. It was amazing. The “I’m a girl” line was extremely funny, because me too Nikki. Me too. Anyways, loved it!

13:The Lake Lilac Summer Social

Oh, what an episode! Gwenvid, Makki (I sorta ship it? Eh?), love triangles, Gwen going ship crazy (me too, man, me too), and David being level headed for once. Uh, so glad this episode exists. Only bad part, Pikeman and Jeremy. That’s literally it.

12:Operation: Charlie Tango Foxtrot

The ending was gross, but whatever. No judgement. Funny episode, and I love how the experimented with the points of view. Petrol’s side was a nice gag and it was overall a good episode! No complaints other than the weird ending.

11:After hours

Honestly, this is a tie with the next one. It is a great look at what happens after all the kids go to bed, what Gwen and David have to deal with, and what goes on outside the camp. The Gwenvid is strong with this episode! It’s really funny and creative. Also, ChibiKawaiiCat97 is absolutely a real username out there, I’m sure it is. Gwen deserves all the good things.

My Favs!

10:Scout’s Dishonor

Neeancy, my child! Yeah! Also, Neil cursing out of nowhere? Amazing. It’s so high up because it actually was the first episode I saw a clip off! It’s what got me into Camp Camp overall, but it’s not listed up there because I do like others better.

9:The Forest

I know, not number one. It’s an amazing episode, with a great plot and a good lesson, but I physically cannot watch it without sniffling. Yes, I know, I’m pathetic for crying at this, but I really see the pain. You can feel the fear in his voice, and it always makes me so sad. Whatever, I still love this episode.

8:Into Town

I mean, I have no rhyme or reason, I just love this one. I can’t even think of a flaw for this one! It’s kind of an amazing thing! A lovely episode with good visuals and amazing dialogue!

7:The Butter Fingered Effect

An amazing episode about change. I love Neil cracking, Ered becoming a nerd, Nikki becoming a scientist, and the counselor outfit swap. I appreciate Gwen wearing David’s clothes, because that’s amazing. I like the theme of change that fits with Season 4. Good episode with almost no flaws!

6:Eggs Benefits

I love Max and Nikki interacting, trying to take care of the egg and Nikki basically having a panic attack. I just love Nikki episodes in general, ok? Don’t judge. Whatever. Preston and Nurf, were um, problematic, to say the least. Whatever, the ending was funny, and this episode is dear to my heart.

5.Camp Loser says what?

Wow… Gwen in a wood scout uniform is actually really pretty! Entire episode was pretty much a fanfiction come to life, and we love the team for that. Uh, I yearn for more fanfic like episodes. God, if you have followed me for long enough, you’d know I would love for the fans ideas to become canon.Anyway, good plot, glad Daniel came back in this way and Pan and/or Bi David is canon

4:Nikki’s Last Day on Earth

I wasn’t expecting that! Honestly, I didn’t see the twist and thought it was a good idea! Funny, creative, and shows off Max’s jerkiness. We love Max development and amazing plots. We also love a Mother and Daughter relationship between Gwen and Nikki. More of that please1

3:Gwen gets a job

This is so damn creative, I love this episode so much. Gwenvid fuel, Max being a terrible person, Gwen breaking down and David comforting her. I bet Gwen never heard a speech that encouraging in her life…

2:Party Pooper 

I know you thought this was going to be number one! Haha, tricked you! But really, this is an amazing episode. The way Gwen bonds with her father, the beautiful scene at the end, the background, everything. I love a good “Gwen is underappreciated” episode, and that’s why this gets second. Almost no flaws! Which leads to number one….

1:Something Fishy!

What an amazing episode! I have never seen “Shape of Water”, but this one is just incredible. Gwen is an underappreciated overworked mess, and she finds what seems likes the perfect option. But turns out it isn’t what it seems, and it’s amazing. Also, this episode has so much Gwenvid fuel, it’s amazing. The art is amazing, Gwen’s dress is amazing, it’s all perfect. No flaws here for me!

[arthrmorgann]

☼ 🏨 ❤ ☘ + Lorna bc I miss her 🥺

☼ : Does your muse like daytime or nighttime more?

Probably daytime as there's less Freakers roaming around the place.

🏨  : How well does your muse sleep?

Lorna sleeps relatively well all things considered. In the early days of the outbreak and after Margot died she was more restless, finding herself waking up several times in the night or tossing and turning in an effort to be more comfortable. Now though she sleeps pretty well, unless there's something playing on her mind in which case she tends to stay awake for a bit just thinking things over.

❤ : What are your muse’s thoughts on love? If they are not in a relationship, do they believe that they will ever find a perfect someone for them?

Surprisingly, Lorna's a bit of a hopeless romantic at heart. Unfortunately, her track record both before and after the Freaker virus hit doesn't reflect this very well! She's not in a relationship currently but still believes that special guy might be out there somewhere.

☘ : Does your muse believe in luck? How about fate?

I wouldn't say Lorna's a huge believer in either to be honest. Though after Margot died she was pretty certain she was plagued with bad luck for a while afterwards, especially as there were a few smaller issues around camp that she accredited to herself.

[witwerlove]

What do you think about Deacon and Sarah's relashionship in days gone? I personally think that it's the cutest love story ever, like, imagine live your live thinking the love of your life is dead and then you find out she's not.

First off, I am really sorry that I am answering this over 2 months late. I actually started writing my response awhile back and it turned into a long rambling mess because I was in my feelings. But then I forgot about it and life just got so busy and stressful.

But here it is, if you or anyone is interesting in reading it. I may have gotten a little too caught up in it it, but it is what it is :)

_______________________________________

I LOVE DEACON AND SARAH!!!!!!! Their relationship is one of my favorite things in Days Gone, but I do have my gripes about them. I think there should’ve definitely been more development between them. I mean we got their “meet cute” and glimpses of their relationship, but since it was mostly via flashbacks and in pieces, it felt very….underdeveloped to me. I understand it’s not the main focus of the story, but it’s definitely a driving point of the narrative for Deacon. I just enjoy my ships having complete sequential narratives, rather than broken pieces that jump around and only give me brief glimpses of the relationship. 

But I get it, the structure of video game story telling is completely different than tv shows and movies that get the luxury of telling a developing story over the span of many hours (or over the span of years). I’m not really a gamer so I feel like that’s the wrong mindset to have by…not necessarily penalizing the writing of a video game, but being aware that there’s going to be an obvious difference in story framing for different types of media.

However….outside of the narrative structure (or lack of), I really did enjoy Deacon and Sarah’s relationship for what it is. It definitely exceeded my expectations in the fact that Sarah played a much more significant role than I ever thought she would. She wasn’t heavily featured in the marketing for the game, so I just assumed she was just going to be a device for Deacon’s broody man pain. I expected her to be killed by or because of whatever caused people to turn to freakers. But that wasn’t the case at all. I will admit that Deacon’s optimism of Sarah still being alive after everything that happened was one of the best things about the character. His resolve and determination is very admirable.

Because even though the world had fallen to shit, that hope was what had driven him to survive for as long as he did. But in a way, it could also be seen as as a weakness because in a way it felt like a crutch. I think back to the scene when Deacon and Boozer get into a physical fight and Boozer says “Where’s your old lady, Deek?” and Deacon replies “She’s dead, Boozer.” And Boozer says “She’s been dead a long time. So don’t you think that you’ve mourned her long enough?” That exchange really struck me because it showcases the difference between the characters of Deacon and Boozer. Which is kinda irrelevant to this subject, but it shines light on how strong Deacon’s love for Sarah was….versus how insensitive Boozer was (or came off to be) to his friend’s emotional attachment of his wife. And it was also sad to see Deacon admit defeat. Because he’d been going on all these quests seeking any bit of information on finding Sarah alive, only for it to lead to nothing (until it doesn’t). Because that optimism kept her alive in his heart and he didn’t want to admit to failure by having to face the tragic truth of his loss. That’s no way meant to be an insult to Boozer by the way. I love him and the Deacon/Boozer relationship is actually my favorite in the game.

But I do have to say, at first I honestly wanted Sarah to actually be dead. I thought that would’ve had a much greater emotional impact on Deacon and it just seemed to fit the story better in my eyes. When it reveals that she’s alive, I was so disappointed when I first saw it. But now that I’ve had time to digest the story and sit on it for awhile, I’ve had a change of mind. I think the reason it disappointed me so much at first is because the reveal and their reactions to seeing each other again after so long felt so underwhelming to me. Sarah is a key element of what was driving the story. 

And while the fact that she was alive was not what I expected (or initially wanted), the reveal of it was extremely underwhelming the first time I saw that scene. But I think that’s due to buildup of my own expectation. That if Sarah was alive and Deacon found her, I wanted it to be a more “fairytale-esque” reunion where boy and girl fall into each other’s arms and kiss and cry because I’m such a hopeless romantic in that way. But I‘ve since rewatched their reunion scene and I changed my mind because that element just doesn’t work in this setting at all. In fact, it was beautiful the way it is. Because it’s more realistic. Obviously their story isn’t going to pick up right where it left off. Yes, they’re still in love with each other, but there’s been a lot of time and trauma between them that it would’ve been more satisfying to me if there had been more awkwardness and tension between them. And they’d have to sort of relearn everything about each other because they’ve probably undergone personality changes from having to adapt to the way they world is when they reunite versus how they were when they left each other. 

In the grand scheme of things, what happened in game much more enjoyable than if it had been all sunshine and rainbows between them like I’d wanted to in my own personal fantasy.

But because we are seeing the game through Deacon’s eyes (and because there’s a time skip between flashbacks and present time), we don’t get to see how Sarah coped being separated from her husband and how she came to terms with Deacon’s “death”. When they were alone and she let her guard down, she kept repeating that Deacon is dead and he’s supposed to be dead because she’d obviously moved on with her life, as opposed to him still holding out hope and actively searching for her. Their kiss in that scene was perfect because she’s the one that initiates it. Sarah being alive feels more satisfying to me now because with Deacon being the point of view character for the story, it’s like a…..reward? Like how at long last, the consistency and longevity of his hope that she wasn’t dead and will to find her was worth something. How even though everything was against him and everyone, including his best friend and perhaps even Sarah herself because she herself had given up on him, wanted him to give up on her still being alive. 

Going back to what I said about it not being all “sunshine and rainbows”, I greatly appreciate the fact that they don’t jump right back in to the romance like nothing happened in those 2 years they were apart. Deacon tried to do just that when he takes Sarah’s hand and attempts to whisk her away from the camp being the “romantic hero” (maybe he wasn’t thinking that highly of himself, but the archetype weirdly fits that perspective), but she refuses. Deacon obviously had a “hopeless romantic” outlook on the situation’s outcome. It’s nice to see when that side of him comes out. But it just makes me wonder if he ever daydreamed about finding Sarah, being the hero rescuing her from danger, and they’d ride off in the sunset together picking up where their story left off. And in the end we eventually do get that “fairytale ending” for them, but not without bumps in the road. Mainly their difference in ideology is what creates tension and distance between them. But in the end, it’s almost as if they fell in love with each other all over again. And it was beautiful.

I also have to point out that the chemistry between Sam and Courtnee Draper is beyond beautiful and everything that makes Deacon and Sarah’s relationship worth being invested in. It’s not a bland and boring run of the mill seen it all before heterosexual romance that I initially thought it was going to be. I thought Sarah more or less was just going to be a footnote in Deacon’s story. A tragedy in his life that shaped him into the cynical person hardened by harsh life experiences. A part of his backstory. And yes, all that *IS* true, but Sarah was so much more. She is a very important piece to the narrative. You put the pieces together and she is in fact the true catalyst to the main story of how the freaker virus was created and spread. Deacon takes the audience to Sarah, but she is probably the most important character because she and her occupation is what establishes the conflict and is the driving point of the narrative (and Deacon’s motivation) up until the point that he finds her.

All in all, Deacon and Sarah’s relationship is so much more complex than I initially thought. And now that I’ve processed some thoughts and put things into perspective, I love and appreciate it more than I did before now.

I did not expect this to turn into some kind of essay analyzing their relationship, but once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. Mostly because I’ve kept my deep thoughts about Days Gone to myself and haven’t really expressed anything in lengthy detail. So it just came spewing out of me. 

But it really helped me put my thoughts into perspective and I enjoyed writing this. I hope it all makes sense. Thank you for the thought provoking question that I’ve completely spiraled. And I’m sorry it took me so long to reply. My love for Deacon and Sarah has grown so much more now. I hope there will be a sequel that’ll hopefully deliver more on my shipper’s pipe dream of romance between them. Or there can be more angst. I’m down for that too. :)

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Shattered Memories

A/n: (F/n)=female name. Just use whatever name that you aren't using for yourself. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You are Deacon's wife. You disappeared a few months ago when you went on a supply run by yourself. One day, Deacon receives word from Copeland that you were safely picked up and taken to his camp. When the drifter arrives, he discovers you've lost something precious. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"Deek, you need to stop," Boozer snapped. "(Y/n) vanished four months ago and you've dedicated every day since then to searching for her. You're not thinking straight, brother."

"I am thinking straight, Boozer," Deacon hissed. "She could be wandering around out there in the shit all by herself with no clue where the hell she is!"

"I know how much you love her, but at the point in time she could be dead for all we know and you're just chasing a ghost."

"She's not dead," Deacon snarled.

"Deek—"

"She's not and I'm gonna prove it by bringing her back." The drifter grabbed his gear and descended the watchtower. He filled his saddlebags with extra ammo and other supplies for the long day ahead of him.

It had been a routine every day for the past four months—wake up, grab his gear, fill the saddlebags, and drive around Belknap and Cascade until night fell. This wasn't the first time Boozer had tried talking him out of searching for (Y/n). Ever since her sudden disappearance four months ago, Deacon had been a mess. He rarely slept, barely ate, and found himself taking his anger out on any Freak he came across.

Riding down the side of O'Leary Mountain, Deacon's radio blipped. "St. John, this is Copeland."

"Yeah, I know..." Deacon hissed under his breath before accepting the transmission. "What is it, Cope?"

"Come to the encampment immediately."

"This better be fucking important," the drifter snapped back.

"It is. Copeland out."

"Let's get this over with," he groaned after the transmission ended.

The camp wasn't far from the O'Leary Mountain safehouse. Deacon arrived in only a few minutes and parked his bike in front of the mechanic's. Manny lifted his head when he heard the bike's engine cut off. "Hey, Deek. Something I can do for you?"

"Where's Cope?" He asked, failing to mask his irritation.

Manny had experienced the drifter's anger and felt horrible for whoever was on the receiving end. "Uh, he just went up to his room with someone a few drifter's brought in."

Without a proper acknowledgement, Deacon departed from the mechanic and headed up to Copeland's room. A few people greeted him as he made his way up, but they all received the cold shoulder. The drifter was in no mood for any jobs or demands from anyone.

The moment Deacon reached Copeland's room atop the tree, he verbalized his hate. "What could possibly be—?" When Mark stepped aside and revealed the person he was chatting with, the drifter's eyes widen in utter shock. His mind went blank as his mouth remained slightly ajar.

"Glad you could make it so soon," Copeland said, walking towards the flabbergasted man. Deacon tried to approach his wife who had been missing for four months, but Mark stopped him. "Listen to me, Deacon, for just a minute."

"Cope, don't—!"

"She's not who you think she is."

"The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Deacon scoffed angrily. "That clearly is (Y/n). I know what my own wife looks like. I've been married to her for eight years!"

Copeland placed a hand on the drifter's shoulder and pushed him further away from the woman. "Let me rephrase that—she's not who she thinks she is."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Deacon growled.

"A few drifters picked her up near Horse Lake. They dropped her off a couple hours ago. I've been talking to her for a while and... she doesn't remember being married to you. She doesn't even remember her name."

"You're fucking with me, right?" Deacon tried to laugh off the news as a terrible joke. The serious expression on Mark's face spoke volumes. The drifter tried to deny the revelation, but he knew Copeland would never lie to him, especially if it involved (Y/n). He shoved past the camp leader and walked towards his wife, who was currently sitting in a wooden dining chair.

As he approached, he noticed her body going rigged. He slowed his advance and saw some of her muscles become less tense. He stared into her beautiful (e/c) eyes as he squatted down in front of her. The astray look on her face caused his heart to ache. By the gleam in her eye, it was as if she was looking at a complete stranger. He swallowed nervously before being able to speak up. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Lost," (Y/n) simply responds.

"What do you remember?"

The woman fell silent for a few seconds, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor in deep thought. She frowned when nothing came to mind. "Nothing, but I do have this." She raised her left hand and showed him the diamond ring adorned on her ring finger.

Deacon felt a lump form in his throat as he stared at the wedding ring he picked out for her. He grabbed her hand, tracing his thumb over the glistening diamond.

"Will you help me find my husband? Maybe if I find him, something will trigger my memories," (Y/n) asked sweetly.

Deacon unconsciously gripped her hand tighter. The words had wounded him on a deep level. He fought to hide his melancholy and managed to put on a facade. "I'll help you find him."

(Y/n) smiled gingerly. "I heard Mark call your name over the radio a while ago. It's Deacon, right?"

"Yeah," Deacon muttered weakly.

"Thank you, Deacon."

With a small nod, the drifter walked back over to Copeland. The leader crossed his arms and explained what he was going to do. "I know you probably don't want to accept this, but you're gonna have to. In the meantime, (Y/n)'ll stay here. We've got plenty of room and could use more help around the camp."

Deacon felt utterly defeated, but he wanted to make one thing clear. "Give her a job in the camp. Do not, I repeat, do not send her on any supply runs."

Mark agreed to the drifter's terms. "She'll work the bounty stall. We'll keep her safe. You have my word, Deacon. What're you gonna do now?"

"Ride around and clear my head. Take out a few Freakers in the process, too." Deacon left the encampment without sparing a single person a glance.

<—————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

An entire week passed without incident. Deacon visited Copeland's Camp every day to check on (Y/n), who had yet to regain a single fragment of her missing memory. He still had yet to tell Boozer (Y/n) was, indeed, safe but suffering from amnesia.

During the time he wasn't spending with her, he visited Horse Lake and followed her trail to see where she had been in hopes to find the source of her memory loss. Copeland had told him they found no wounds on her, but she had been gone for four months. That was plenty of time for a wound to heal.

Deacon left Horse Lake and headed back to Copeland's Camp to ask (Y/n) a few questions. He pulled into the gate and left his bike with Manny. Rounding the corner, he saw the woman was dealing with a few Swarmer ears. She looked up and greeted him with the smile he fell in love with. "Hey, Deacon. You're back early. Did you find something?"

The drifter leaned against the wooden counter with a huff. "Nothing. I do want to ask you a few questions, though."

"If it involves my amnesia, go right ahead. Maybe something will trigger my memories."

"How long were you wandering around out in the shit?"

(Y/n) though for a few seconds before responding. "A few months. I woke up inside some cemetery with no memories at all." Her eyes narrowed slightly as one of her hands gravitated towards the side of her head. "I-I do remember waking up with a couple of large bumps on the side of my head."

"Someone probably knocked you out. That could be the cause of the amnesia." Deacon peered down at the ears beside his hands before looking back up at (Y/n). "Anything else you remember?"

"Sadly, no. All I remember is what happened after I regained consciousness. I'm sorry, Deacon," she melancholically sighed.

Unconsciously, he reached out and took one of her hands in his. "Hey, don't worry 'bout it. It's not like you asked for amnesia."

"I just hope my memories come back soon." (Y/n) gripped his hand tightly. She peered down at his hand and saw the wedding band amongst the other rings on his fingers. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Deacon followed her line of sight and saw her admiring his wedding ring. He fumbled over how he would answer and decided to use the first random name that came to mind. "Her name's (F/n). She's, uh... currently a hot mess."

(Y/n) laughed in amusement. "Guess she and I are in the same boat."

"You've no idea..." Deacon muttered under his breath for only his ears to hear. He turned to leave, but stopped when he felt something cold and slimy hit him on the cheek. Glancing down at what had hit him, he saw a bloodied ear. Lifting his gaze, he arched a brow as he stared at the seemingly innocent (Y/n). "Did you just throw a Swarmer ear at me?"

The woman bit the inside of her cheek to keep her grin at bay. "Maybe..."

He picked up the ear and tossed it onto the counter before wiping the splotch of blood off his cheek. "It's not nice to throw things," he chided with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, well, it's not nice to abruptly walk away without a proper goodbye. It's a bad habit of yours," she remarks.

Deacon was slightly taken aback as he heard those exact same words after their third date. He had forgotten to say farewell and she threw a stick of gum she had in her purse at him. The memory replayed in his mind as he smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll be back tomorrow, alright?"

(Y/n) sighed, resting her elbow on the counter while resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "That's somewhat better. I'll see you tomorrow. Stay safe out there, Deacon."

He waved over his shoulder at her as he returned to his bike. Deciding to head back to the safehouse for the night, he left the encampment.

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Un-fucking-believable..." Boozer mumbled after absorbing the news Deacon had brought him. "You found her, but she's got amnesia? What the hell happened to her out there?"

"Don't know, but hopefully she'll get her memory back soon," Deacon said, laying down on his bed.

"What about Addy? She's a doctor. Maybe she could help," Boozer suggested.

The drifter flew up into a sitting position with wide eyes. "Why the hell didn't I think of that earlier?"

"Pick (Y/n) up tomorrow and take her to Lost Lake. Iron Mike isn't exactly our biggest fan, but he might make an exception for her sake."

"I just want her back," Deacon confesses.

"I do, too, brother. She kept your ass in line," Boozer chortled heartedly.

He rolled his eyes and laid back down. "Shut the hell up..."

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The next morning, Deacon drove to Copeland's Camp and picked up (Y/n). She was confused as to where they were going until he told her about a doctor in Lost Lake. The woman was quite compliant after hearing about the doctor and didn't hesitate to hop on Deacon's motorcycle.

They arrived at Lost Lake Camp an hour later. Deacon stopped in front of the gate, but it didn't open. "C'mon, open the fucking gate!"

The man managing the gate opened it, but it wasn't to allow them in. A woman in a green jacket stepped out and before she snapped at the drifter, her eyes caught a glimpse of (Y/n). "Holy shit..." Her eyes widened. "You found her!"

The puzzled expression on (Y/n)'s face confused the woman. Before she could question what was wrong, Deacon spoke up. "Listen, Rikki, (Y/n)'s lost her memory and... and I'm hoping Addy can examine her."

"Oh, damn," Rikki gasped. "Well, I don't see an issue with that. Come on in, Deek." She opened the gate further, allowing the drifter to ride through and park in front of the infirmary.

Rikki guided (Y/n) into the infirmary, but stopped Deacon before he could follow. "In exchange, you've gotta do a supply run for me."

Deacon opened and closed his mouth in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"While Addy's examining (Y/n), you cam make a quick stop at Camp Pioneer. Deal?"

The drifter desperately wanted argue since he wanted to stay with (Y/n), but he knew winning an argument with Rikki was impossible. "Fine."

"Great!" She patted him on the shoulder. "Now get going. There's a few tools I need you to pick up. Addy'll fill you in on (Y/n) when you come back." With a frown, Deacon left the encampment to find the tools Rikki needed.

Addy examined (Y/n) and asked her a few questions to see if she could ignite a spark with the woman's missing memories. Morosely, the doctor couldn't help. She sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Has Deacon told you anything?"

The woman shook her head. "No. Does... he know who I am?"

Addy sat down next to (Y/n) with a small nod. "Very well, actually. He must've not told you a thing because you wouldn't believe him."

"Who am I to him?" She questioned nervously, gripping her hands tighter tightly.

"You're his wife, (Y/n). But you probably don't believe me, do you?"

"Not one bit," she murmurs. "But I do want to believe you. He told me his wife's name is (F/n). Guess it was just a coverup. Now that I think about it, Deacon's been the only one trying to help me regain my memories."

"(Y/n)," Addy said, her tone brimming with sorrow. "Your memories may never return. It's been four months since whatever caused your amnesia and whatever it was definitely did some damage. I think your best bet of getting your memories back is Deacon."

The woman nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for the checkup, Addy."

"You're welcome," the doctor smiled.

<—————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<

(y/n) waited patiently for Deacon's return. It was nearly two hours before he returned to Lost Lake. When he did, the first thing she noticed was his side was bleeding. "Oh, god, what happened?" She inquired as she took him to the infirmary.

"Fucking Rippers..." Deacon replied vehemently.

Inside the infirmary, (Y/n) searches for an antiseptic and a clean rag while Deacon took off all he was wearing from the waist up. He glanced down at the cut along his right side and hissed when he brushed a finger against the lacerated skin.

(Y/n) returned with what she needed to tend to the drifter's wound and immediately got to work. As she pressed the rag soaked in rubbing alcohol against the wound, her eyes trailed up his arm when she heard him curse under his breath from the stinging sensation. Her (e/c) eyes stopped and widened when she spotted a tattoo on his bicep. It was her name.

Images flashed through (Y/n)'s mind as she used her other hand to trace the letters of her name across Deacon's arm. "A few days before the wedding..."

Deacon turned his head to gaze at her. He heard her mumbling, but he wasn't able to make out what she said. "What?"

"You... You got this tattoo a few days before our wedding. I couldn't believe you got my name tattooed on your arm and was completely embarrassed when you showed it to the rest of the Mongrels."

The man turned around, completely forgetting about his wound. He was shocked and overjoyed a portion of her memory was back. Without wasting a second, he wrapped his arms around her small frame and hugged her close to him.

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his bare torso, resting her head against his chest. "Some of my memories are still missing, though."

Ignoring the pain in his side, Deacon placed a hand on the back of her head and raked his fingers through her (h/c) locks. "I'll make sure you get them all back."

The woman smiled up at him. "I know you won't let me down."

[alexanderwesker]

3, 6, and 7 for the otp meme, with James/Deacon, please! ^^ (If three is too many, just 6 and 7)

First thank you so much for the ask. Now for the answers:3:Who compliments the other in front of everyone?Deacon, even if he is the most closed off between them, he is the one more likely to compliment James in front of everyone, causing him to blush while he tries to save his cold, detached appearance in front of the other survivors, failing miserably. Because when it comes to Deacon, James isn’t able to play off his emotions as he usually does.6:If they got to pick what one another wears for a day, what would one another wear?Uhm, this is a difficult one. But I think that for James, Deacon would pick that black shirt that -he absolutely hasn’t searched for half of the quarantine zone before finding- has a cerberus(very similar to that of the Mongrels) stamp on the back, black military style pants and combat boots. Yes it would be almost too much of a tactical attire but James would look positively stunning all dressed in black, without any trace of NERO logos on him. While for Deacon, James would pick a light colored shirt(ice-blue or light grey) and a leather jacket(that especially for two reasons, first being that Deacon looks good in leather, the second being the fact that James is always too worried that some freaker could get a bite on Deek and infect him, so the leather could avoid it, being a resistant material), faded jeans and combat boots… and the anti-projectile jacket, he sneaked out of a somewhat occupied NERO outpost, because "Dear God, Deacon, those fuckers use guns, and you can’t avoid a bullet as you could with a sprinting freaker“.7:Who introduces their partner to their family first? How does it go?Who’s the first? James, because he knows that even if Deacon would never say it, he thinks that he is not enough or not good enough for him, and since James doesn’t want Deacon to think that he is the one that propose first to go to meet his family. How it goes? Well, James’ parents accepts Deacon quite easily, seing how obviously in love the two are, and for the fact that Deacon is a biker? That doesn’t concern them, seeing that James’ dad was, in his time, a biker himself (one of the Flame Horses) and it actually brings some intresting conversations between Deek and James’ father. James’ mother is, just, happy that her son has found his happiness, but studies anyway her son’s partner and is even more glad to see how utterly in love Deacon is. James’ older brother is the one who take a bit to accept it, but because of how protective he is of his younger brother.(He actually threatens/ warn Deacon that if he’d hurt his little brother, he would’ve given him hell even if that would end him up in prison).For Deacon the things are a bit more complicated since is family of blood is gone, and he is hesitant in presenting James to his other family, the Mongrels. In the end James manage to rassure him and the things go… well, good for the most part. Boozer welcomes James with open arms, and his almost joyous to ‘finally get to meet the famous James’ he has been told about in the last months. Jack(the head of the Mongrels) took a bit to warm up to the shy boy, that James is, but it isn’t difficult once he got to see James’ more fierce side, which made him (not personally mind you) discover that the seemingly defenceless boy has quite a good right hook and isn’t scared to pick on a fight. After Jack the other mongrels easily followed in accepting James. And Deacon felt like that was the happiest moment in his life.(Edit: The name of the biker club, James’ father is based on the name of a real biker’s club that are the ‘Etna Horses’)

[diaxfeliz]

ADRIAN and LEON get left behind after being ambushed by marauders.

Adrian Price - me

Leon Reinfield - @mcbacondaddy

-

-

“Reinfield, get off that damn diary of yours and let's move.” nagged Adrian. She looked up at the sky. The sun was slowly setting. “It’s ideal we find shelter before sundown. I don't wanna be encountering anything or anyone hostile while we're out here.”

“Be right with you.” chirped Leon.

He scribbled a few more words into his journal and finally closed it. He liked writing down what happens to him, both good and bad, so he can go back and see the things he'd done and haven't. He tucked away the journal and pen back into his pocket and drew his submachine gun strapped on his back.

He heard Adrian cough which made him turn to her. He frowned seeing her a little pale and leaning on a lamppost for support. They had been ambushed which forced the rest of the team to leave them, but Leon knew an ambush wasn't supposed to be so tolling on Adrian so seeing her like this was new.

“You alright?” he asked as he walked over to her.

Adrian groaned and got off the post. She shook her head and placed a hand behind her neck. “One of those assholes tagged me with a trank dart.” she mumbled. “I'll — I'll be fine though. Let's go.”

Leon nodded but still keeping the concerned frown under his mask.

Adrian looked down the road. “There should still be a perfectly good convenience store about three-ish miles from here. You willing to walk?”

“I am, but...” Leon looked down and paused. To Adrian, however, that was too long of a pause.

She turned to him and sighed. “But what, Reinfield?”

“I think we should stop by somewhere closer.” he suggested which genuinely made Adrian throw him a look. He eyed her up and down. “I don't think you'll be able to make it.”

He said it so bluntly that it almost sent Adrian into a fit, but deep down, she knew he was right. She couldn't feel her fingertips anymore and she was getting more and more fatigued by the second.

“Hey,” Leon placed a hand on her shoulder. She perked her head up to him. “you don't have to act so tough all the time, y’know? It's alright to ask for help every now and then, and it's definitely alright to take a break every once in a while. And for sure, that’s what you need.”

Leon smiled and lightly pinched Adrian's cheek. She puffed up her cheeks and slapped his arm away. She was touched and she could feel herself blush a little too, but she wasn't willing to act so vulnerable in front of anyone, higher or lower ranking. Adrian cleared her throat.

“I've already contacted Lyithara and told her to pick us up tomorrow morning. Those samples needed to be preserved as soon as possible so I had them head to HQ. It'll take a while to get to and back, but I wouldn't want to be attracting Freakers in the middle of the night.” She checked her watch. Half an hour till sundown. “So we're here until the next morning.”

Leon chuckled. “It must be a real Freakshow when the sun sets.”

It took Adrian a while to process the joke he made. No one usually made jokes anymore out here. “Y-Yeah... a Freakshow...” she mumbled.

They set off after a while. Adrian brought up this closer NERO checkpoint just a ten minute walk from where they were. Leon, thinking it was close enough for Adrian's sake, agreed. As the sun was already setting, so was the chilly night breeze. Neither of them minded of course, Leon even took to a little sky gazing.

“It can get pretty nice out here, don't you think, Private Eye?” he commented as he traced the clouds with his eyes. The sky was a pretty orange hue transitioning into a blue.

Adrian, still dazed from the trank, hummed. She shook her head to clear her foggy mind a bit. “Private Eye who? It’s — It's been a while since anyone’s called me that.”

Leon was surprised. “Really? It's really well used, believe it or not. I'm surprised no one else calls you ‘Private Eye’ face to face.”

The time Leon actually faced Adrian to talk to her, she was much more pale than earlier. The bags under her eyes were appearing more of a black than a purple and the blue of her eyes became dull. Instead of showing concern like she wouldn't want, he chuckled and ruffled her hair. It pissed her off, yes, but it was better than worrying her.

“Probably because they’re tryna stick to formalities.” Leon winked, a wink Adrian couldn't see of course.

“I suppose.” She shrugged.

———

The sun set. The checkpoint was seized. The doors were boarded up. They were safe within the main lab. Lucky for them, it was warm enough that they didn't have to create a fire. They laid out comforters from the closets and soon got to sleep.

It was dark, quiet, and mind-wrecking. Adrian tossed and turned trying to get some sleep but it wasn't any use. Leon was waken up by the ruffle of her sheets and slowly turned on his side to face her. She was curled up in her blanket but he knew she was having trouble trying to fall asleep.

“You okay, Private Eye?” he asked quietly as to not startle.

She sighed. “I can't believe I let us get ambushed by a bunch of marauders...”

“It wasn't anyone's fault we got ambushed other than those fuckers.” He lied on his back. “We were too busy is all. Not even the captain noticed.”

No response from Adrian. Leon scooted closer to her and spooned Adrian. She didn't flinch because of how weak and tired she was. Leon wrapped an arm around her to keep her warm, she was pretty cold after all despite the warmth of the lab.

“You good yet?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah.” She shifted a bit. “... thanks.”

“No problem, Price.”

[sammyrammy]

001, Camp Camp :o

Ayyy, thanks for the ask.

Camp Camp

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my:

Favorite character: 

Harrison or Petrol.

Least Favorite character: 

Hmm, most likely either Dolph or Daniel. Dolph because obvious reasons, but for Daniel, I most likely grew to hate him because of the fandom’s representation of him. It’s… hard to explain? I still kinda hate Dolph more though.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): 

That’s a tough one. Honestly I’m not really too keen on the ships for this show, so I’ll probably make this decision based around their interactions and how I think they’d work as a couple. 

From greatest to least: 

Gwenvid 

I’ve always liked this ship, I really appreciate how much they care for each other in canon, plus they balance each other well. If they did ever get together, their relationship would be healthy and they would be really supportive of each other.

Neil/Harrison

It’s hard to pinpoint why I like this damn ship so much. It’s probably because I see Neil as a tsundere, or maybe because they started getting along better in season two and I thought it was really cute? Besides that, I don’t have any fucking idea. Soooo… yeah.

Angry Neil and conceited Harrison is my aesthetic though. And that… sums up their relationship quite a bit in Mind Freakers.

I’ve also noticed that Harrison doesn’t take Neil too seriously? At least when compared to when Nerris insults him?

Nerris/Harrison 

What can I say? Their rivalry is absolutely adorable. Plus, I’ve always seen rivalries as a good thing (I MEAN IN A TOTALLY HEALTHY WAY, JESUS). Because when you have someone to compete with who also has similar interests, you strive to better yourself and can improve a lot faster? I feel like together they could learn more things about their magic in this way… but I feel like that would be the same even if their relation was only platonic.

Uhhh… my only issue though is Nerris putting down Harrison (Mainly from what I’ve seen in s2e3). I know that’s a part of Nerris’s character.. but I just hope that Harrison doesn’t take it to heart to the point where it lowers his self esteem.

Ummm... Neil/Preston?

I know this isn’t a really popular ship.. but I like it a lot? I think it’ll be cute and I don’t know why, but I’ll probably ship it more when they actually have some more on-screen interactions (or maybe even a good fanfic, who knows). I did have the cute idea of Neil helping Preston by revising some of his screenplays, so maybe I might just write it myself.

Okay, now I’m going to be listing ships I don’t really… ship but I like their relationship and since I still have one more left I kinda have to… 

Neil/Nikki

I just found it super adorable how Neil stood up for Nikki against the Flower Scouts. 

Like... think about it for a sec. In “Jermy Fartz” Neil stated that he has trouble fitting in and is picked on most of the time, and in s1e3, he fit in with the Flower Scouts. You can see how happy he is by his facial expression when Sasha calls him an honorary Flower Scout. He finally fits in somewhere and isn’t bullied for being himself. (Yes, he was posing as Neenacy, but at the same time, I think he was being himself personality-wise)

However, though, after seeing them belittle Nikki and after hearing that they actually kicked her out, he tosses away his spot in the Flower Scouts in order to defend her. He could have so easily just said something mean about Nikki and disown her as his friend in order to say with the Flower Scouts, but no, he decided to do what was right, which is what I really love about Neil’s character honestly.

Also, in other episodes, Neil is shown to be concerned about Nikki, such as when she got sick in “Into Town”.

Nikki also showed concern for Neil, was even willing to attack some of the other campers in order to gather clues on where he was in “Reiny Day”, and was super worried when Neil disappeared behind the wall in “Journey to Spooky Island”.

They really do care for each other, and have had many moments like those in the course of two seasons.

Anyway, I put this here, mainly because there aren’t many other characters I like to pair besides the ones above, and while I don’t really ship these two romantically, I really do like their relationship.

...Well shit, this part got long, whoops.

Character I find most attractive:

David.

Character I would marry:

DAVID AGAIN. HE’S FUCKING CUTE DON’T JUDGE ME.

Character I would be best friends with:

Probably… Gwen. I feel like we would be good friends.

a random thought:

It would be hilarious if there was an obvious parody of Camp Camp that David lectured the kids for watching.

An unpopular opinion:

Probably that I don’t like Daniel? Can’t think of anything else.

My Canon OTP:

This is difficult… there’s not much canon ships but… I suppose Nerris’s mom and dad because I love them and they are great parents.

My Non-canon OTP:

Gwenvid for the reasons stated above, ahah.

Most Badass Character:

GWEN. MAINLY BECAUSE OF THE EPISODE “GWEN GETS A JOB” LIKE HOLY SHIT. 

AND ALSO SHE HELD THE FUCKING PLATYPUS LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL BEFORE IT TRIED TO ATTACK DAVID AND THE CAMPERS IN “MASCOT”.

Most Epic Villain:

The Wood Scouts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pairing I am not a fan of:

INAPPROPRIATE SHIPS ASIDE (Y’ALL KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT), I can’t stand DAN///IEL/DAV//ID. Uhhh, sorry? I honestly don’t think David would EVER date someone who tried to hurt the kids at his camp.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):

Dolph. They could of easily made him an actual good character that likes to draw, but nope, he’s just a Hitler joke. …And that’s why I hate him.

Favourite Friendship:

The main three. Hands fucking down. They are adorable, balance each other well, and their friendship is what made me like and appreciate Camp Camp so much in the first place.

Runner up is Preston, Harrison, and Nerris because they’re great.

Character I most identify with:

Max or Harrison. I can’t decide because I relate to both a lot.

Character I wish I could be:

Definitely David. I want to positive and see the good in people like him.

[rossthecit]

What Ross would do in the actual series (Season 1)

I was just thinking about Ross, as a character and thought it would be fun to sort of figure out what role she would have in different episodes. I was worried about her being considered Mary Sue but hey, I only just started this blog so I’m still learning. That said, these aren’t like synopses, they just say what Ross does during episodes. Some of them are really weirdly detailed and others are vague, that’s because I wrote this over the course of a few days. I’m not trying to make her the main character or anything please don’t maul me I’m just a babey

Ok anyway, so this doesn’t take up the whole dashboard I’m adding a read more ⬇

Escape from Camp Campbell - Ross accompanies David and the trio-to-be on the tour, because you know, damage control. She doesn’t do much other than that, but she does chase the trio with the counselors. (I got lazy and this is edited from like a week or so ago)

Mascot - While everyone else opts to find a new mascot, Ross decides to row to spooky island to find the hamster instead because she was quite attached to the little guy. She gets lost there but finds her way back by the end of the episode thanks to a mysterious boy named Jasper. She and Jasper become friends and she promises to visit him often. The rest of the episode carries on and she declares Muack (platypus) her rival.

Scout’s Dishonor - Since this episode is exclusively the trio, she doesn’t make an appearance. However, it’s implied that she and David retrieved Max from the Wood Scouts afterward (she snuck into the canoe). Also important to Ross’s character, I have another OC who’s a Wood Scout. More on him in a future post.

Camp Kool Kidz - Technically bridging the gap between camper and counselor, Ross has to choose between joining the revolution and helping the counselors. Her fear of getting sent back to the Flower Scouts fuels her decision to help Gwen and David. Since there’s no more room on the flagpole, the campers just hold her prisoner in the Mess Hall. The rest of the episode continues on as usual. (Note: As Campbell has a tendency to call people the wrong names, he just calls Ross “Red” because of her bright red hair and name that starts with an R.)

Journey to Spooky Island - Ross agrees with David about the island being strange, claiming her friend who lives there told her all about it. David tells her nobody’s lived there for years, which scares the frickity-frack out of her so she goes with the trio to prove that Jasper, whose name she conveniently didn’t mention to David, is real. So the group goes about things as usual except Ross is there. Ross is genuinely more scared of ghosty stuff than the actual bad things. Torture room? I sleep. A door creaks slightly? Nopenopenopenopenope~! Ross is unphased by what they found behind the dungeon’s noisy door, making everyone question what in the world she’s seen, and QM rows them back to camp, mental scarring and all.

Reigny Day - Shortly after the rain starts, Ross walks in covered in rain water and cat scratches, but only in the background because haha background gags. Every time there’s a holocaust joke, she cringes and shakes her head. When Neil goes missing, she panics about as much as David does, nervous about failing her responsibilities as a CIT. While the others search for Neil, she has to take care of the campers who wanted nothing to do with all of that. She’s relieved when they come back with Neil, and is proud of Dolph when he gets the award. (I love Ross as a big sister type, especially since she, like me, is the baby of her family)

Romeo & Juliet II: Love Resurrected - Ross works as a stagehand and makeup artist throughout the episode. She keeps trying to get Nikki to let her do her makeup, afraid of what will happen if she disobeys Preston. Nikki keeps escaping, and eventually she disappears completely. Ross wanders off to find her, only to be ambushed by the flower scouts, who want to take her back to camp so Ms. Priss will stop complaining about the lack of help she gets. During the chaos with Tabii with two I’s, Ross rolls onto stage, tied up and with duct tape over her mouth. Sasha runs after her and notices Tabii is doing bad stuff and opts to drag her back instead. Bonquisha drags David off to a date while Ross silently ships it and worries for David simultaneously.

Into Town - David takes Ross with him for “moral support” as he’s quite afraid of civilization. She heads into the general store with David and discovers a metal water bottle for sale. David buys it for her, then sees Max in the window shortly after. Ross gets confused, because she recognizes the girl in the window as one of her flower scout peers from last year, Niccolette. Things are cleared up in the car and Max is still thoroughly convinced David is gonna murder him. Instead, just like in the actual episode, he announces they’re all camping together. Ross protests because Gwen won’t survive a night alone, but in the end David’s the one with the license.

David Gets Hard - Ross avoids the Nurf situation, not wanting to deal with a bully type for some reason. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. When Scotty makes his first and only appearance, she questions where he came from. Nobody answers. When Nurf tries to go on a killing spree, she wields her bottle as a weapon, thus discovering its true power. She almost gets stabbed before David swoops in and accidentally slaps Nurf.

Mind Freakers - Ross gets upset with Harrison when he accidentally hexes Max, going full mom-friend. She goes to town to get some medicine for Max and generally takes care of him, much to his annoyance. The next day, she’s out at the store to get more medicine because it mysteriously vanished (QM probably took it for strange reasons) and misses the rest of the episode.

Camporee - Most of the beginning of the episode is the same, except with Ross and mystery boy who she nicknames “Boyscout.” Having been a flower scout in the past, she knows all of their weird courses by heart and passes them with flying colors. The wood scout courses, not so much. If she had an activity during the Camp Campbell portion of the competition, she would have chosen baking, but there was a limit of 5 and she hardly qualifies as a camper anyway. She gets visibly FURIOUS for the first time when Campbell says he won $50 and tells him off.

The Order of the Sparrow - Ross, knowing the reward is a bonfire (and also technically not being a camper), doesn’t participate in the kindness competition. This episode is mostly focused on Max and David and not much on side character so Ross doesn’t do much other than help Preston make the costumes in the last bit.

wow that took a while, now to go to sleep

[entergamingxp]

Days Gone Player Takes Out a Huge Horde without Firing a Single Shot

May 7, 2020 8:18 AM EST

Days Gone bad-ass takes on a massive formidable horde of freakers without emptying one bullet from their gun.

Recently, Days Gone celebrated its very first anniversary that saw an outpour from the community in appreciation for the title. In a week-long special event, we saw fans come together by showcasing a host of in-game photos, streams, videos, fan-art, discussions, and anything else Days Gone related. Many members of the Days Gone development team got involved too by placing #DaysGoneWeek after their Twitter names showing just how involved this incredible gaming studio is with their fans. Not wanting the party to end, Reddit user SpawnicusRex made an in-game video of them taking out 300 freakers without firing a single shot from their gun.

At the beginning of the 8-minute video, we see SpawnicusRex riding their motorbike through the variety of terrains that are scattered around the landscapes of Days Gone, rapidly accelerating through trees and unkempt roads. Finally coming to a stop, a hungry mass of freakers are laying in wait in the depths of a pit – feasting on something unseen. Getting themselves repaired to take on this unearthly battle, SpawnicusRex is seen crafting ingredients that include the likes of a proximity bomb, some attractors, and Napalm Molotovs that will all work together to take these savage freakers to their knees.

Taking a little time beforehand to survey the area with binoculars to pinpoint where barrels of explosives and petrol tankers are located, SpawnicusRex begins to make their way down into the mission known as the Iron Butte Horde. As seen in the video, firstly they start to place proximity bombs and remote bombs close to explosives so that when it comes time to take down the freakers, traps will lay in wait for them. Once all the prep is completed (which is around the 6-minute mark if you want to skip ahead) we see Deacon St. John throwing 4 Napalm Molotovs into the unsuspecting horde before turning on his heels to make a run for it. As what’s left of the furious freakers chases after him, they stumble into the preconceived and cleverly laid out traps – taking out a handful but more still come. Using the attractor which gives off a high pitched noise to lure freakers to it is set off by a gas tanker, more freakers succumb to a sticky death. But it’s still not over!

Rolling and throwing his way through the horde,  SpawnicusRex places more attractors and waits for the optimum time to set the bomb off again, gathering as many freakers into one spot as possible. As you can see from the bar at the top of the screen, only a handful or so freakers are still left standing until one patient and final detonation destroys them all and completes the mission. Keep in mind that not one bullet had left Deacons gun throughout the entire process and if you have played this game at all, you’ll know how difficult that feat is. During my own personal playthrough of encountering the hordes, I was shooting anything and everything whilst trying not to freak out to just survive it all so to see this much thought and discipline go into this incredibly difficult level is really brilliant.

I think this is why, amongst other elements, players come back to Days Gone time after time. There are a number of ways to complete missions that keep it appealing and fresh not to mention all the beautiful points of interest scattered around the map that you keep discovering while riding your drifter bike out in the wilds. I’m very excited to see what Bend Studio do next with this world as we heard last year, in an interview with GamesRadar, Bend Studio’s Chris Reese shared a bit more insight on the studio’s outlook on Days Gone after its release. When asked about the potential to expand on the game’s universe down the line, Reese responded that “it is certainly a passion of ours, and that’s what we’ve always wanted to do.” This is music to my ears as I loved my time in Days Gone so the potential for a sequel to expand on what Bend has established already with its post-apocalyptic, Freaker-filled world is very exciting for me.

If you’d like to read my review of Days Gone, feel free to head over here to give it a browse. Spoiler, I really liked it. Days Gone is available now exclusively on PS4. If you have yet to experience the game for yourself just yet, you can pick it up right now over on Amazon.

  This post contains affiliate links where DualShockers gets a small commission on sales. Any and all support helps keep DualShockers as a standalone, independent platform for less-mainstream opinions and news coverage.

May 7, 2020 8:18 AM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/days-gone-player-takes-out-a-huge-horde-without-firing-a-single-shot/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=days-gone-player-takes-out-a-huge-horde-without-firing-a-single-shot

[dippedanddripped]

As temperatures on planet earth continue to soar, it’s becoming more important than ever to find sustainable ways to lace the heat on your feet. Powered by the Converse Renew initiative, the Chuck Taylor All Star and Chuck 70 utilise post-consumer and post-industrial waste to provide new material solutions for the iconic silhouettes. Making use of upcycled denim lifted from landfill, repurposed canvas waste, and 100 per cent recycled polyester from plastic bottles, the Converse Renew initiative is rebuilding the Chuck Taylor’s storied past to envision a cleaner future. We linked up with Jessica L’Abbe, Converse Director of Color, Materials and Graphic Designs; and Brandon Avery, Vice President of Innovation, to find out how the brand is fuelling the next evolution of sustainable sneakers.

Talk us through the design process for the Renew collection. [Brandon Avery] About four years ago, we had a small group of people around a table at our headquarters. We were talking about ways that we could create experiences for our consumers through the Converse DNA that unlocked new potential around sustainability. We live in a world where there's stuff all around us. Why do we keep stuff? What value does it hold in our lives? A lot of the time, it's the things we’re emotionally connected to. We asked 25 members of the Converse team to bring in something they're emotionally connected to. For us, it was about making that emotional connection with the human and their individual journey, and combining it with the world's most loved and iconic sneaker: the Chuck Taylor. The Chuck Taylor is super forgiving with bringing that personal connection to life.

Is this when the Chuck Taylor ‘envelope’ came to life? [BA] Well, we were sitting in our office, and on the table was this envelope. I remember asking one of the developers that was working with us, ‘What are the limits here? How far can we push this?’ He said, ‘With time, resources, and a little bit of innovation, we can make a shoe out of just about anything.’ We traced the pattern of a Chuck Taylor on this envelope. This became one of our most exciting prototypes that came back from the exercise. It really opened our minds to the possibilities. The Chuck canvas could be made out of literally anything!

‘With time, resources, and a little bit of innovation, we can make a shoe out of just about anything.’

Is there a way to scale designs like the Chuck envelope? [BA] I think with innovation and design, you have to create something that breaks the rules and completely disrupts how we think. So while the envelope sneaker was an extremely cool one-of-one experience (if you look closely, that's my name on the envelope, so I really do feel emotionally connected to that sneaker), what it ultimately led to was the important factor. The possibilities are endless. We'll continue to look for ways to scale and bring new ideas to our consumer. We don't want to create one item that the world can't respond to, so we need to make sure that we can do it in a responsible and sustainable way.

How are you connecting sentimental value to sustainability? [BA] We started to think about that waste. It really isn’t waste at all, but a source material for new things. This was the starting point for our upcycle program. We began with one person bringing in one item. But what if you had a million people bringing in a million items? How do we sort those materials? Where would we get them from? How do we collect? We realised it didn't need to be one type of material. We could push the boundaries and continue to innovate in this space. So when you open the aperture a bit, you realise that the discarded materials around us are not waste at all — they're the new source material for what we make next. For the last two years, we've been working on this concept of Renew as a commercial product collection. It's our ongoing initiative to develop new, innovative, and more sustainable ways to create our product.

'When you open the aperture a bit, you realise that the discarded materials around us are not waste at all – they're the new source material for what we make next.'

The Renew Canvas was the first release to utilise the new technology. How were the materials constructed? [Jessica L'Abbe] The Renew Canvas was the first iteration really showcasing our new strategy, which represents our ability to create our iconic canvas out of recycled materials. You get the same Chuck Taylor look and feel, but made from 100 per cent recycled polyester that came from used plastic bottles. Plastic bottles are collected, ground in a flake, spun into yarn, and woven based upon our canvas specs. The first couple of iterations that we did on this canvas were shiny. They looked a little synthetic. We tried multiple yarn constructions until we had a version that had that same matte look as our iconic canvas. It has a little bit of a softer hand. It's a little bit more fluid. Although it's softer, it holds up our testing standards and brings that added benefit of taking colour really well. We're super excited about how this turned out.

Does the Renew Cotton involve a similar process? [JL] It incorporates 40 per cent recycled cotton canvas grafts that we collect from our canvas creation process with polyester to create new yarn that becomes a raw fabric for renewed upper canvas. This project was especially exciting because we turned inward and started to evaluate our own waste stream to discover new resources. The innovation team found that there was excess canvas at our mill partner due to colour matching issues. We worked to develop a system that collects our canvas rejections, runs the canvas back down into fibre form, and creates an intimate blend of 40 per cent recycled cotton with polyester. The polyester is added for strength and durability. We chose to use alternative weave structures to our classic canvas, just to add a little bit more visual value and difference to the material to really signal that something new was happening.

'Why do we keep stuff? What value does it hold in our lives? A lot of the time, it's the things we’re emotionally connected to.'

What can you tell us about the upcoming Chuck 70 Tri–Panel Renew Denim release? [JL] The Renew Denim really represents the product of our upcycle textile capability. We've developed a process by which nearly any single–sourced upcycled textile can be cut and crafted into the upper of a Chuck Taylor All Star or Chuck 70 at industrial scale. We're working with a UK–based sustainable fashion and vintage retailer Beyond Retro to source tens-of-thousands of pairs of denim jeans a season to create new footwear. People love Chucks because they change over time, and they're often associated with your own personal experiences. Keeping that personal feeling as we scale was critical. What better material to start with than denim? Everyone has their favourite pair of jeans that are worn-in perfectly. They hold a lot of memories, so it really just feels like the natural first material for our upcycle story.

Do you think a sneaker industry with zero waste is possible? [BA] We do. In fact, we won't stop until we do. Every day, we're going to come in and find new ways to innovate and move forward. How can we create a sneaker in new and sustainable ways? It’s going to be a journey for all of us.

[arthrmorgann]

ALL the emojis for my loves, lorna and tig! 💕💕💕

🌲 What is the kindest thing your OC has ever done for someone? What is the kindest thing someone has ever done for them? On the flip side, what is the worst thing your OC has done to another person?

Lorna: Probably standing up for Tig when the truth comes out about his involvement with NERO, as well as being quick to offer her help (without knowing what the Berley Lake camp was going to do) when Lost Lake was attacked by the militia. She had grown fond of the camp and the people there over the time spent there and was determined to not see it fall. And whilst she never participated in their big clash with the DCM, she helped in the weeks after, ensuring the camp was quickly able to get back to there feet. Worst thing? When she hunted down and killed a drifter who had been picking off people from their camp, as well as giving some grief to supply runs. She wasn’t authorised to do so by Holly, but she had seen another people get hurt by that man, that she knew she had to do something.

Tig: Helping Lorna and Margot escape is definitely up there as perhaps the kindest thing he’s ever done. Having a rough idea of the inner workings of NERO (or what he assumed to be going on) as well with how shitty he knew some of their members could be when he found the two trying to escape he knew he had to help them. By that point, he had been beginning to question the motives of the group and saw helping the girls flee as an opportunity to alleviate his own guilt as well as ensuring two innocent people were not hurt.

🌳 What does your OC do when they see others upset or in pain? An upset friend? A stranger?

Lorna: Lorna’s not the greatest at dealing with people who are upset or in pain. She’s sympathetic of course, but can struggle to convey this. She finds herself best suited to a listening role and offering words of encouragement. She’s better at dealing with people she knows who are hurt as opposed to strangers.

Tig: Tig’s a huge softie so he sees someone hurt or in pain and he immediately kicks into an over-protective mode. He’s not the most confident of men, but he really shines when helping and healing others.

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarassment?

Lorna: That she’s a bit of a hopeless romantic at heart? She’s not embarrassed by it, but she tries to ignore that part of herself because she is afraid to let her walls down and potentially get hurt again.

Tig: That he’s a surprisingly good singer! And as mentioned, he’s not a very confident man, so the idea of singing for the camp is practically a nightmare for him.

🍃 Describe a regular day for your OC. What is their schedule (if they have one).

Lorna: A regular day for Lorna starts off with an early wake-up at around 7am (depending on the day’s schedule she may stay in bed for an extra hour or wake up an hour earlier). After waking up, she has a quick breakfast before meeting up with the rest of the security team. Once Paul hands out assignments for the day, she can usually be found in one of the lookout towers in camp for most of the day, at around 2pm she switches her role with another member of the security team and spends the next two hours patrolling the camp borders, or just patrolling the camp itself. Depending on what’s happened in the day, she’ll head for dinner at 5pm and then head back the infirmary with Tig for a little bit. At 7pm she goes back to lookout duty for two hours, before getting some free time. Lorna tends to head to bed around 10-11pm.

Tig: Much like Lorna, a regular day for Tig starts at around 7am. After a quick breakfast, he tends to have a quick word with Holly, informing her of their list of medical supplies and how any patients are doing. After speaking with Holly he heads to the infirmary (a repurposed room in the lodge) where he spends most of the day. He heads for dinner at 5pm, and then returns to the infirmary, where Lorna will often join him for a quick catch-up of the day’s events. Tig tends to clock off around 10pm and then heads back to the cabin he shares with Vadim. He’s usually pretty pooped from work so tends to head straight to bed when he gets home.

🍂 How does your OC think they will die? Does death scare them? Is there any reason for this?

Lorna: Defending the camp. She’s had a few close calls in the past so the idea of dying out there doesn’t frighten her as much as it once did.

Tig: Tig’s pretty paranoid that someone will eventually bump him off for his dealings with NERO or that NERO will find him and bump him off themselves.

🍁 What is your OC’s most traumatic experience? (If they don’t have just one traumatic experience either pick one or describe them all!)

Lorna: The deaths of her father and sister were probably the most traumatic thing she experienced. There were a few years between them but their deaths hit her hard, and she still feels their loss to this day.

Tig: The whole chaos that came with the start of the outbreak. He’s seen some awful things, but honestly, nothing compares to the sheer hell of witnessing the world fall apart right in front of you and then dealing with the immediate aftermath.

🍄 How would your OC react to the death of a friend/family member/loved one? Is there anyone they can confide in?

Lorna: She doesn’t have any family any more, but I imagine losing one of her friends would be pretty much devastating to her. When she in the mood to talk, Tig’s usually the one who acts as her confidant. She’d probably shut down if anything were to happen to him, he’s the closest person in camp to her, and practically family at this point.

Tig: He’d be an emotional wreck for weeks after. He’d cry a lot, and isolate himself more than usual.

🌾 What would your OC be like if they were evil. Or if they’re already evil what would they be like as the good guy?

Lorna: Probably like a bitchier, more relentless person than she is now. She’d attack or maim anyone who slighted her and wouldn’t have any time for attempts at alliances between camps.

Tig: If Tig was “evil” he’d be something of the quietly manipulative sort. The type of person who seems kind and genuine, but was really manipulating situations to suit his own needs.

💐 How would your OC react to somebody telling them that they love them? (+ bonus give another characters/OC name!)

Lorna: Lorna wouldn’t really know how to respond for a moment She’d probably stand there bewildered, and jokingly ask him if he was confident he felt that way. Depending on who it was, she’d be smiling afterwards, possibly reciprocating her own feelings, before bestowing a sweet kiss in gratitude. She’d ask a lot of questions about where to take their relationship from that point on.

Tig: When Vadim admitted feelings for him, it really caught him out of left field. He had a budding friendship with the man, and had flirted here and there, but hadn’t expected anything to come of it. When Vadim confessed to him he actually started to cry, caught completely off-guard by this announcement. He was secretly very happy though and was quick to share his own feelings, albeit it in a rather flushed, awkward manner.

🌷 What does your OC hate about themself? What lies about themself do they believe? On the flip side, What does your OC love about themself?

Lorna: Lorna doesn’t really hate anything about herself, to be honest. It’s the perceptions about her she doesn’t like. A few people see her as this cold, at times harsh and cruel woman, and she wishes they didn’t. She’s not great at expressing herself, but she does wish more people saw the nicer side to her, that she isn’t all suspicions and raised eyebrows.

Tig: His lack of confidence. He can defend himself if pushed, but he hates the nerves he gets, and that he frequently second-guesses himself. He wishes he could be braver and do more, and lowkey hates it when people assure him he does enough tending to the infirmary.

🌹 Does your OC have any scars? How and when did they get them?

Lorna: Answered!

Tig: He has a small knick in his right eyebrow as well as some minor cuts and scrapes.

🥀 What is something your OC blames themself for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

Lorna: Answered!

Tig: He frequently blames himself for things that happened at the Medford Survivor’s Camp. Although his fears are definitely misplaced, as Tig was only a small cog in the NERO machine and had no idea of the raids they were conducting against other survivors in the city. When he stumbled upon that abandoned camp in the city, he was just as surprised and horrified by what he saw as Lorna was.

🌺 In what situation would your OC be pushed to commit an act of violence? Would they go as far to kill someone if they had to? How would this affect them and their relationships with others?

Lorna: Answered!

Tig: Tig’s not a particularly violent man, so it’d have to be like the literal scum of the earth type of character that would get him to lash out. Tig would only ever kill as a last resort, but even then I think the notion of taking someone’s life and it not being mercy with sit heavy with him for a very long time.

🌸 What would your OC do if they were given god-like powers or the ability to change anything about the world for a whole day?

Lorna: Bring her sister back.

Tig: Boost his confidence, make the world as it was for a day - or at the very least bring back some pre-outbreak amenities for the day to enjoy.

🌼 Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

Lorna: Her worst nightmare is seeing Margot dying, standing there and being powerless to do anything. An alternative version of this dream is seeing herself as a freaker who killed her, and not being able to stop herself and being unable to recognise what she’s doing.

Tig: Tig’s worst nightmare involves him being trapped in a dark room. There’s a NERO scientist with him and they’re doing an unseen experiment on him. He’s almost trapped in his mind in this nightmare though, as whenever something is done to him he doesn’t lash out or make a noise, but inside his head he’s screaming.

🌻 What advice would your OC give to their younger self? What advice does your OC need now?

Lorna: That she doesn’t have to brave all the time. Letting yourself be vulnerable is not a weakness. It’s okay to cry.

Tig: You can be strong and dependent without having to brave. Don’t blame yourself for things that are outside of your control.

[thomasroach]

Days Gone Review: A Saphire in the Rough

The post Days Gone Review: A Saphire in the Rough appeared first on Fextralife.

  In this Review I’ll be taking a look at the recently released Days Gone by SIE Bend Studio, a game that has left a lot of people wondering, “Is it as bad as they say it is?”. I’ll answer that question and more as I take you on a journey through rural Oregon, where the populace has been overrun by Freakers and Swarmers. If you’re a fan of zombie games, or just curious about this title, read on for more.

Days Gone Review

Genre: Action-Adventure Developed by: SIE Bend Studio Published by: Sony Interactive Entertainment Release date: April 26th, 2019 Platforms: PS4 Price at the time of the review: $59.99

Days Gone Story and Setting

The Setting of Days Gone is a bit near and dear to me, as it is based in rural eastern Oregon. And, even though it is a somewhat fictional rendition of this area, it is a place I have spent many winters and springs, hiking and skiing. And who would know this area better than Bend Studio, which is located exactly in that neck of the woods. They have done an outstanding job of capturing and recreating the local, and I don’t think anyone who has been there more than once would disagree.

Snow is not very common in the Cascades, and you’ll run into it occasionally in Days Gone.

The Story follows a pair of young-ish bikers, as one of them is separated from his wife during the zombie invasion. Many years later, not knowing what became of his wife, Deacon searches for answers. Not just answers about her fate, but also about the zombies that seem to endlessly plague the hills and forests around the few settlements that remain. He takes work as a mercenary to make money and survive in the zombie-eat-zombie-world. The decisions he makes through out the game weigh heavily upon him, and do have some in-game consequences, albeit not overly large.

Players will spend a lot of time exploring the rather large map, about a third of the size of Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, on their motorbike. The weather dynamically changes, and their are day and night cycles, with zombies becoming more abundant as the sun goes down. This reminded me a bit of I Am Legend, and the game does a great job of giving off that “zombie moving” feeling, and it’s probably the closest any zombie game I have played has come to feeling like an actual playable zombie movie.

The area of the game is quite large, and while not the biggest I’ve seen, is more than enough to satisfy. This is just a tiny portion of it.

Days Gone Gameplay

Days Gone plays like any third person action game, taking an over the shoulder view of Deacon as he fights his way through zombies and humans alike. Melee combat and gun play both feel quite good, and they are not difficult to get the hang of. Players have a primary weapon, side arm, special weapon and melee weapon to switch between. These can be changed out as more guns are acquired from enemies, or purchased from shops. They can even be modified with silencers, to prevent hordes of zombies from hearing you take out that one straggler, which can otherwise ruin your day (or night).

Deacon starts out pretty weak, and it’s easy to feel like the combat of Days Gone is lacking early on. It reminds me a bit of Kingdom Come: Deliverance, where players were complaining they couldn’t beat every enemy with pure skill from the very beginning of the game. The developers had intended for you to become stronger as the game progresses, and so it is the case with Days Gone as well. As you gain XP, and pick up even just a few Skills, you notice the difference in efficiency almost immediately, and combat starts to become more fun and interesting. For this reason, I can’t help but feel many of the negative reviews were simply from outlets who did not play the game longer than about 3 or 4 hours.

Tonight on Bears vs. Zombies!

When not fighting swathes of zombies, or gangs of dick head humans, you’ll be gathering materials to craft explosives, bandages and repair your bike and melee weapon. While I don’t usually enjoy this aspect of games, particularly survival games, in Days Gone it isn’t as much of a chore. I found myself, even on the hardest difficulty, having enough of the things I needed if I took a few minutes to really explore areas I came across. This actually made me want to explore things as I came upon them, because I knew I didn’t have to, but maybe there was some good stuff there. In addition, ammo while scarce, wasn’t so much so that I felt like it was always an uphill battle.

The game itself plays a bit like a combination of Assassin’s Creed and Red Dead Redemption 2, only with zombies. Players will take on quests from settlements, where they will interact with other characters from the game’s story, and then head out into the semi-wasteland to complete their task. Players can stop to do activities like clear our Freaker Nests, or wipe out Ripper Camps along the way, but it isn’t required. Once you arrived at your quest destination, things play out a bit more cinematic, and if you fail objectives then you will immediately reload the game. It’s really well done, and although not innovative in any particular manner, Days Gone successfully pulls off a mix of these two games, if only to a lesser degree.

Things don’t always go according to plan…

Days Gone Audio and Visual

Visually, Days Gone is one of the best looking games on PS4. The world, weather, day and night cycles all look really really good. The more I played, the more I enjoyed this aspect, and I often found myself just admiring how good things looked. In addition, the character models are top notch, and mouths actually move in a non-awkward manner when characters speak. You should have absolutely no complaints about this. There were a few frame drops here and there, but they were few and far between, and I had exactly 0 crashes.

The graphics in Days Gone are some of the best on the current generation of console.

Bend Studio did a fine job on the audio front as well, and the game’s voice acting is on par with some of the better games out there, if just a notch below the best. The characters take some time to grow on you and Deacon is a bit of a drama queen, but the more you play with him, the more you like that about him. While I can’t say too many of the other characters were overly memorable, I will say that I did empathize with many of them and found myself hoping they were not killed by zombies.

Gun shots, zombie noises and music were not mind blowingly good, but nothing felt out of place. It’s about what you’d expect from a zombie game, and some of the game’s music did remind me a bit of Red Dead Redemption in that they were definitely trying to set a certain mood as you rode a long an empty road on your motorcycle. That’s not a criticism or complement, it’s just how I felt about that aspect of the game.

Final Thoughts

I do not know what is happening with gaming “journalism”, but somewhere along the way it’s gotten lost in a complex maze of money and politics. Looking at Metacritic, you’ll notice that the gaming industry is growing further and further out of touch with its audience where it matters most. Games like The Division 2, Anthem, and even Fallout 76 have markedly higher industry scores than user scores. While games like Warframe, Immortal Unchained, and Days Gone suffer from just the opposite, with user scores much higher than those in the industry. Big studios with big marketing budgets seem to come out way ahead when games are in the “middle of the road” category, while those by smaller studios suffer. These are the games that players really want to know about before purchasing, and they are being let down.

There is a large discrepancy between gaming outlets and users…

Days Gone is not Last of Us in terms of quality, but let’s take a second and admit, almost no games are. I don’t think anyone went into it expecting Naughty Dog production value, but Bend Studio has done a damn good job nonetheless. They have managed to compel me to keep playing the game by providing consistently fun gameplay, engaging environments to explore, and characters that grow on you…eventually. Bend Studio may not have re-invented the wheel with Days Gone, but they did manage to make a convincing replica of it, and one with zombies to boot!

Be sure to drop by Twitch and check us out live streaming Days Gone!

The post Days Gone Review: A Saphire in the Rough appeared first on Fextralife.

Days Gone Review: A Saphire in the Rough published first on https://juanaframi.tumblr.com/

[davidaolson]

This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts. ~Aztec Theology

Dead Hearts Walking

We are a steady stream pushing ourselves up the steep stairs one by one. They walk without difficulty. I am winded by the exertion, gasp for oxygen in the thin air. With step 248, we reach the summit of the Temple of the Sun, the largest pyramid in the Americas. Each of my companions, a devotee has a cleanly sliced, horizontal hole in their chests just left of center, slicing through the nipple region. The ghosts walking the street do not have the hole. Only those ascending the pyramid do. There must have been a ghost priest near the base performing the ritual.

In their right hands, each holds a beating heart, their own beating heart dripping phantom blood. The drops are low luminance red. They contain too much pigment to be transparent, not enough to be opaque. Translucent blood, translucent as the mixed-blood people inhabiting a society happy to push them to the margins. Out of sight. Out of mind. Translucent. Preferred invisible.

They search for the Sun Stone to offer their hearts, a sacrifice to propitiate the starving Aztec Gods, drinkers of human blood. Once the gods’ thirst is satiated, they will reward the people and resurrect the lost empire and the Aztec will reign again.

But the sacred Stone is missing. It was stolen by Spanish invaders for its gold inlay then thrown in a worthless heap until it was rediscovered and placed behind bars in a museum. Why behind bars? The scientists have heard the stories. They know power lives within and blood will set it free. They fear the power, fear losing their own exalted place in society. So, the people are kept at bay lest they sprinkle their own claret juice and resurrect the ancient gods.

The original thieves failed to comprehend the sacred stone’s significance. Without it, connection to the Gods is severed. The passage from life to resurrection and final death blocked. The sacrifice cannot be made, neither resurrection for the empire nor final passage for the people is attainable. As this realization sets in, that they are trapped in the between world, my companions let loose a howl accompanied by a torrent of tears.

They cram still gasping hearts back into emaciated chests. Heads droop low, unshoed feet drag on sharp rocks. They descend the steps leaving a trail of ghost blood. Some stumble. Others, distraught, hoping for final death and freedom from the curse, jump from the top of the 216 foot Sun Pyramid bouncing off the sides, rolling over the angled walls, come to rest at the pyramid base mangled, crushed. Death eludes them, still. They remain bound to the misery infecting the empire when their leaders turned their backs on Lord Sun instead prostrating before the furry-faced man on the great white horse they believed to be a God incarnate. But Cortés was merely a killer, an invading demon.

With bodies broken, spirits crushed, they rejoin their brothers and sisters walking Avenida del Muerto, the Way of the Dead, the main road connecting the pyramids in Teotihuacán. The wanderers slowly fall into a procession, a line of spirits walking, single file along the Avenue of the dead from the Sun to the Moon to the distant Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent and back to the Sun Temple where they again pull their hearts from their chests and trudge up the 248 steps hoping, in vain, to end their purgatory. The Church came to bring heaven to the Americas but condemned the natives to perpetual perdition.

Sun Temple

Sun Temple

Sun Temple

Moon Temple

Avenue of the Dead

The line of spirits is endless with multitudes streaming toward the ancient city. They cover the land, a thick blanket of locusts, on their way to join the procession. Even the dead harbor misplaced hope in Gods.

My wife, and I suspect the other tourists, cannot see the ghosts, are not aware of the shadow people wandering in the crowds who slide through the living as light pierces a pane of crystal glass.

Are the locals aware? Probably. The ancient blood runs through their veins so I believe they have genetic knowledge. I hear the vendors speaking to each other but not in Spanish. My guess, it is Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs. If their knowledge of the language lives, I’m sure they know of these shadow people, can see the shadow people. I would like to ask them but believe, even if we could speak a common language, they would not reveal ancient secrets to an outsiderf, especially a gringo.

When I visited almost two years ago, I did not see the shadow people. But that was before I met Grandfather, a spirit, a ghost. An ancient who is as old as the Americas themselves, possibly older. I encountered him twice within a year, both times in New Mexico at distinct locations connected by a common theme. Petroglyphs made by some of the earliest aboriginals in what is now known as the Americas.

The first time I also met and had a conversation with a Rattlesnake spirit. Between those encounters, I met and received a message from the Tukó spirit in the Philippines. Three extra-worldly experiences in one year are enough to put anyone off their nut. All things considered, I am not surprised to be walking with shadow beings at Teotihuacán, archaeological ruins of what was a major city in the Aztecan empire. Nor do I harbor any fear.

Grandfather passed a vision into my head through touch when we met in Albuquerque foretelling of an upcoming encounter. I am in Old México for a break from the cold Chicago winter and, if Grandfather was real, as I believe him to be, to meet my next teacher, Puma. In the vision, though, Los Muertos talked to me. I have tried conversing with these shadows but they act like I don’t exist. Are they aware of me?

Ah well, I know where Puma lives in these ruins. I saw the mural on my previous visit and that is where we are headed next. My only problem, how do I get rid of my wife and away from the crowds. In all my previous spirit encounters, I was alone. It seems to be a prerequisite. No witnesses. No one to validate my experiences. No one to assure me I don’t wander in and out of schizophrenia.

Miztli (Puma)

Miztli (Puma) Miural

We stop to admire the Puma mural which is a short bit along the avenue on the way to the Temple of the Moon. It is tawny with absurdly long claws. Red waves in the background make it look like it’s walking on water.

I need to be rid of the wife. Time for my sob story.

“The mother-freaker Sun Temple was tall. The rise between those steps is long. I thought the Aztec were littler people like five and a half feet tall. How did they manage those steps? And the steepness is scary. I was worried I would take a tumble on the way down. I bet a few of ’em were accidentally sacrificed to the gods just from falling while trying to get to the top. You are smaller than them. You must be tired from the climb up and down.”

“Nope. I’m ok. I’m feeling good. The altitude isn’t bothering me at all.”

“Really? You are definitely better fit than me.” Shameless schmoozing. “I guess the personal trainer is paying off. I should probably find one too because I’m feeling a bit winded and my cough is tickling at the back of my throat up…”

“…and you want to rest for a bit so I should just go ahead?”

“Ummm…”

“Can’t you come up with a different lie? You told me almost the exact same story a few weeks ago in New Mexico. Practically a duplicate word for word except for the added trainer part. Trying to play to my ego, are you?”

Sheepishly “Ok. I’m feeling a strong need to be solo for a short time. It is the only way I can connect with the spiri…er…the landscape. I don’t want you to feel I am abandoning you.”

“Listen. I’m an introvert. I understand the soul’s drive for alone time to rejuvenate. And, please, no more of this spirit seeing vision shit. If you are going to create a magical realism story cool. I like reading your stuff. Just quit pretending it’s real.”

“Sorry…” not sorry. Did my hypocrisy show through in my intonation? Probably for her next words were, “I’m going to the moon temple. Meet me there when you are ready.” And she walked away without waiting for my response angry footsteps pounding the trodden grass.

It is going to take some mighty fast talking to smooth this over but that’s a problem for later. In the meantime, I need to learn from Puma. I would kneel but the ground is pebbly and my knees are wretched. Prostrating is out with so many people milling about. So I whisper using the few Nahuatl words I learned specifically for this occasion. I hope Puma can hear my prayer over the din.

Miztli (Puma), achtontli (ancestor) icniuhtli (friend). I call you friend knowing very well we may be distant brothers of a common ancestor in a blessed cihtli (grandmother). I saw you in a vision gifted to be my…by our…our Grandfather. I am here because Grandfather foretold you would reveal a cochitlehua, a seeing dream showing my next destiny.

No acknowledgment.

Do not fear me, I am not tlacatecolotl, an afternoon owl bringing evil to either you or the ghosts wandering this ancient city. I seek your toltecal, your wisdom that I may understand the huitzitzilin, the hummingbird journey leading me from flower to flower.

Miztli still appears not to hear me. It remains stoically perched on the wall not flexing any of it’s taught, tawny amber muscles. Nor do I sense it recognizes my presence. If it had, a bridge should form connecting our spirits, enabling communication.

I turn around to think and discover I am surrounded by a semicircle of ghost people with me at the locus. They stand, quiet, focused in my direction. I cannot tell if they are actually looking at me because their eyes are vacant, gray orbs. I slide a few steps to my left, they shift left. I return the three steps to the right, they follow again.

On the pyramid climb, they were oblivious to my presence. If not oblivious then consciously chose to ignore me. Now, they are definitely focused on me. Was hearing their own language the impetus for the change?

“Miztli,” I say testing my hypothesis. They lean closer, the ancient language a magnet pulling them toward me. The words must have pierced the wall between the living and the wandering dead diverting them from their mourner’s path toward me.

“¿Tlen?” I say which translates as what. I need to know what they want from me. Perhaps, they have insight and can help bridge me into Puma’s world.

In unison, they respond, “Meztli.”

Using my thumb, I point over my shoulder toward the Puma mural hoping it is not a rude gesture in their Aztec culture. I ask, “¿Miztli?”. I’m too fearful to point with pursed lips which would require turning my back on the phantoms, the growing legion of phantoms. I sense an uneasiness in the crowd. Again they say in booming unison, “Meztli.” This time looking left and pointing with pursed lips to the North.

It is then I realize my mistake. I thought they had said miztli which means puma but they actually said meztli meaning moon. They are directing me to the Moon Pyramid.

“¿Does Miztli spirit reside at the temple of Meztli?” I don’t expect an answer. A response presupposes people who died hundreds of year ago can understand my English. I pause for a brief eternity allowing ample space for them to speak. No response.

I turn right, begin walking toward the Moon Temple hoping it is where I will find miztli but expecting bubkus, nada, nothing. The phantoms follow close behind. I glance back for one last look at the mural. Puma has vanished from the painting. There is a hole where the wavy red lines were behind the painting. Shit. I missed my chance.

I turn back to the ghosts who have resumed their eternal march. I jump in front of them and wave my arms. The walk around me, through me on their never-ending procession that will eventually route them to the top of the Sun Temple and another attempt to resurrect the old gods, their dispossessed lives. Instead, they exist in an eternal hell. Their purpose had been to distract me so Puma could make an escape. I am disturbed. Why did Miztli choose to avoid me?

Head hanging, I drag my feet to the Moon skirting the ubiquitous vendors selling trinket and blankets and jaguar whistles and graven images. Can they see the ghosts? Do they care?

The steps up the Moon Temple are equally steep as the Sun. These, though, end at a platform less than halfway up the pyramid. Access to the top is prohibited, blocked by a weak fence I could easily circumvent. But the ascent is tricky, the steps crumbled, crumbling. An ascent carries the twin possibilities of success and sacrifice in equal measures. My goat days are long behind me. I opt to play it safe.

I return to the lip of the platform, sit, stare south along the very straight Avenue of the Dead toward the unseeable Temple of the Feathered Serpent. The Aztec were astounding engineers. The most distant temple It is hidden behind polluted air. Beyond that is a mountain range. Further still all of Central and South America with many more ruins to explore before I jump from the physical world to the spirit world. Hopefully, not too soon though.

The tourist count, high when we arrived, is continually increasing. As expected when visiting famous sites during vacation time between Christmas and New Years. Too many people for my liking. The avenue is packed with the colorful living and gray, translucent dead. Is there really a difference between life and death? So often, life feels like hell.

In the midst of the chaos, I spy the tawny rippling muscles and twitching tail of Miztli. Is Puma out for a stroll or a hunt? It looks toward me, at me. Not having the animals sharp vision, I cannot tell if it is looking with disinterestedness or disdain. My soul tells me it’s probably indifference. I’m living. It is spirit. What can I possibly offer a demigod?

My wife sits next to me, “I see you made it.” The angry edge is mostly gone from her voice.

“Yup.”

“You look hot. Your face is pink. Here, drink some water so you stay hydrated. We better get you a hat on the way out.”

I drink, wishing it was colder, wishing it was an elixir that would allow me to exist permanently and simultaneously in both worlds instead of spirit visions occurring haphazardly. Is it haphazard? Grandfather must have some plan, some rationale for bringing me to his side. I wish I knew what it was.

I feel a need to speak, to bridge the gap I created. “This is a great view, I would love to have seen it in its heyday when the pyramids were pristine and all these structures in mint condition. I’m sure it was amazing.”

“Did you find what you were looking for at the Puma grotto?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Even if it includes spirits and phantoms?”

“I want truth not figments of your imagination. Save that for your stories.”

“Ok. No. I did not find what I wanted at the grotto. I learned nothing. Maybe, I was supposed to learn nothing.”

“That’s good. Are you about ready to go?”

“Sure. I am feeling a bit lightheaded. The sun is getting to me. It is exasperated by the low humidity. I can hear the moisture being sucked from my body through my pores. I need to get a Coke on the way out. The sugar will do me some good.”

“Are you ready to go now or do you need more rest?”

“I’m ready. Say goodbye Gracie.”

“Gracie?”

“Tag line from an old TV show. Let’s find our driver and get back to Mexico City.”

Cholula

A few days later, we shift ourselves from México City to Puebla via an easy two-hour, first class bus ride. The one drawback, the movie on the overhead screens is in Spanish. My Spanish, other than impolite words, is elementary and that is being generous. I’m unable to understand most of the movie. This lack of Spanish speaking is a deficiency I need to rectify since there are still many Central and South American countries I plan on visiting.

México felt modern. Not as modern as Chicago but still contemporary. Puebla is more old school with great colors on the buildings. The Zocalo is a cozy park surrounded by shops, restaurants, with the focal point a gorgeous cathedral. It feels like an old European town. I could see myself retiring here spending the mornings sipping tea and writing. The evenings would be more difficult because the restaurants lack variety.

For this second half of our trip, we have prearranged a local to guide us, a friend of a Chicago friend. They are a mother and daughter pair. The mother speaks more English than we do Spanish still our ability to communicate with her is limited. The daughter, a teenager, is a self-taught English speaker. She has a strong grasp of the language and is virtually accent-free. This is the first time she’s conversed in English. My wife and I are stunned.

Our first stop, the great pyramid of Cholula, is a touch shorter than the Sun Temple making it the 2nd tallest in the Americas. Most of Cholula is unexcavated. By volume, Cholula is larger than any of the taller Egyptian pyramids. Which begs the question. Which is bigger? Is it the greater height or the greater volume?

When I used to fish, some of my fishing buddies determined bigger by length. I was a weight guy believing a heavier fish would feed more people therefor it was the bigger. We never did reach an agreement. Maybe, if I caught the longer fish I would have shifted to their perspective. I never did catch the largest fish so it was a moot point. The one time I was close, the fish, a four-footer, spit the lure out right at the boat and winked at me as it dove into the darkness.

The side of the pyramid on which we arrive appears to be nothing more than a hill. We can’t see it yet but there is a tiny little church on top desecrating the sacred pyramid. That is bad but the story gets worse. We walk around to the opposite side. Vendors are hawking dried grasshoppers, a local delicacy sold by the bucket full. I am unable to suppress my squeamishness long enough for a sample. Next time, I tell myself knowing very well there is unlikely to be a next time. There are few foods I won’t knowingly try. Insects and balut top that list. My try new food tactic is to have the people I’m with order their favorites for my meal and not tell me what I ate until after I’ve finished. It’s a great way to stretch my palette.

The Aztec were master Engineers creating their cities without the aid of computers or machinery. I expect the pyramid to have sides parallel with the cardinal directions like the sun and moon temples. This is not the case. It isn’t until reaching the top I come up with a logical, to me, rationale. The pyramid is built askance for spiritual purposes. Parallel to one side there is a volcano and another mountain peak. In concert, they are key figures in a local creation story.

The Yellow Church

The ascent is a paved walkway, an ascending road absent steps. I don’t know if it is the original fixed up or a modern addition. The angle of ascent is not insignificant, the pain in my thighs a minor irritation, the 7,000-foot altitude plays a part. We stop twice to catch our breath. I am reminded of the uphill ascent to Parvati temple in Pune India. Both feel similar in distance and inclination.

Stairway to Yellow Church

Yellow Church

At the top sits a small church. I am appalled but not surprised. It was the Spanish invaders’ practice to deprive the indigenous their freedoms and their lives. They also did their best to annihilate their chosen afterlife. This is the underlying reason for the ghosts wandering the Avenue of the Dead at Teotihuacan.

The Aztec were born into a belief system, a system annihilated by the invaders preventing the Aztec from completing their prescribed birth, death, afterlife cycle. They lived and died but were unable to transition from death to final afterlife thus are stuck in a limbo world and will remain trapped until their rituals can be performed. The Spanish tried to supplant the Aztec system with Christianity but the new system is a cycle outside the original. Unless an individual Aztec freely chose to convert, they remained bound under the auspices of the original system.

The Catholic Church, represented by the conquistadors, condemned millions to suffer eternally or until the Stone is returned to the sun temple and the legions adrift can finally crush their own hearts on that altar and be released into the eternal afterlife.

The yellow church perched on the top of the pyramid is named the Shrine of Our Lady of Remedies. It was built by indigenous slaves to transition them from paganism to Christianity. Repurposing religious sites was a common blasphemy conducted by the church patriarchy in their quest to save the savages. Yet another parallel between Catholicism and the ISIS bastards destroying ancient sites. The Catholic Church was the ISIS of the invaded new world.

Upon completion, including gilding the interior with stolen Aztec gold, the natives were forbidden from entering the church. They were allowed to attend mass from the outside looking in through the small church doors but not cross the threshold and sit beneath the roof. Even conversion, an act said to cleanse them in god’s eyes, was not a key allowing them entrance. The spiritual soul saved, physical soul pissed on. WHy? They were not white and not Spanish. Blatant discrimination reflects the Church’s true character. What they truly needed saving from was the invading Church and the depraved Christians.

The Underworld

On our way to the walk-up side of the Great Pyramid, we pass a ticket booth granting access to the soul of the pyramid. The line was long so we opted to bypass for the fee free jaunt to the top. One of our hosts, seeing the steepness of the climb, offered to return and buy tickets so we could enter on the flip trip. Having always wondered what lies beneath these behemoths, we agreed. An added bonus, there are excavated sections of the exterior complex only accessible with the tickets.

Stairway in Cholula Pyramid

The world beneath is spider-webbed with narrow passages. The openings take the form of a gravestone, straight sides with an angled top coming to a point at the peak. The best I can describe is the shadow cast by a short, squat pencil with the tip worn down.

The electric lighting is yellowish casting a jaundiced glow on the brick and mortar walls. Are they adobe? I’m not sure. The construction reminds me of adobe huts and the ruins left by the Anasazi. Rocks slathered with mud hardening sufficiently to endure the ages. I imagine the ancients scurrying the passageways carrying torches, atra, fire flickering on a long stick casting eerie shadows. I look for but do not see any signs of fire soot. Was it cleaned by the excavators? Rinsed away by floods?

My head barely clears the top. A head bobble would have me scraping the sides so I do my best to keep my noggin steady. No quick turns. The narrowness makes it not possible to walk two abreast. Squeezing past someone is impossible without body contact. The Aztec were littler people and would have little difficulty navigating the tunnels.

I feel walled in, claustrophobic. I imagine horrors, tunnels collapsing trapping us in blackness slowly suffocating in the dwindling oxygen. A rush of water slowly filling until we drown. I enjoy exploring the tunnels while simultaneously fighting the urge to flee into the sunlight and blessed open space. Every fiber of my being is at war with the dilemma made worse because I have no idea how long it will take to traverse the maze and emerge on the other side.

I have a strong preference for deserts over forests. Forests are beautiful and awe inspiring but sight lines are limited. In deserts, I can see forever in every direction. I feel free, not trapped by a thousand wooded fence poles. The solid walls in the pyramid depths are infinitely scarier than the densest, deepest forest.

We have no map. There are no mile markers displaying distance covered, distance remaining. I do my best to stuff my growing panic as I used to stuff my emotions. Hopefully, stuffing my panic with have a happier ending instead of exploding when my emotions erupted.

We pass side tunnels. Some on the same level, others descending all blocked by steel gates. Some are lit. Most are pitch. They are obviously still under excavation. One descending into the depths, step by step, has a shallow puddle pool a couple of feet down. Coins are visible in the still pool.

Are the coins an offering to the gods? A superstitious act to dispense good luck? Probably both. The folly of humanity never ceases to amaze me. It was at one such side tunnel that I pull over and let my companions pass. I am much bigger and was probably blocking their view. I also hope, having them in front of me, will add perspective reducing my burgeoning panic to a manageable whimper. And, it will provide moments to study architecture without worrying about holding the others up.

During an extended lollygag, I trace a faint outline, faint like it was scrubbed away by repeated flooding. I can’t really tell what was there because the many gaps force me to fill in the blanks with my imagination but there is a resemblance to the Puma at Teotihuacan. Can it be? Or is it wishful thinking? My own folly. I am still confused about why the encounter with Puma turned sour before a connection was bridged.

I’ve lost track of my companions. There is a turn ahead they must have already passed. I am alone. Alone in this constricted space with thinning air making it hard to breathe. My panic simmers with dainty, little, baby bubbles hiding the churning below. It’s not a raging boil, yet. I need to get out. I need to be free now. My feet move independently, rapidly.

I come to an ascending passageway on my right. There is no gate blocking the way. At the top, there is the glow of light. It’s around a bend so I can’t tell if the tunnel leads to the exterior but the natural looking light is a draw I can’t pass up.

The Up Tunnel

I’m in. No choice, really. The light is a salve to my fear, an elixir to quench my thirst for sun. I begin the upward climb gradually stooping over because the space between the steps and the ceiling is shrinking. Shortly, I am crawling on hands and knees and another phobia kicks in. I am terrified of getting wedged in a tight space in a cave. The next level phobia is getting wedged while scuba diving in caves with my oxygen running out.

I hear voices ahead. The light is bright. The end must be near. The final stretch, what appears to be the final stretch, of the tunnel requires belly crawling. I start and stop. Sweat coats my body, has soaked through my shirt. I can’t muster the courage to continue. I must abandon this route and return to the original. I start inching backward irritated I didn’t have enough courage to fight my irrational fears. My toes splash in a puddle. Oh shit! I’m kneeling in a thin layer of water, a layer slowly rising. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Progress or perish. Going back is not an option.

I reach my arms forward narrowing my body as much as possible wishing I had paid better attention to my weight. The bulging belly adds to the challenge. My fingers feel only slick wall, no finger holes to pull through. I can’t begin to guess how long the passage is. I use my toes to push myself forward, literally, inch by terrifying inch. Every fiber in my being screams in horror. I’m going to die.

The water continues rising forcing me to nose breathe. Mouth breaths would contain more water than air. The water makes the rock slick and toeholds difficult. I concentrate, force them down so the rubber on my shoes can push forward and create propulsion. The one benefit of the water is it acts as a lubricant making forward movement easier. I move a couple of feet when I feel a lip to grasp. The water reaches my nose just as I break through into a chamber.

To shaken to think, I find a rock and sit trying to settle my nerves. No luck. I must move. The chamber is a largish junction between two tunnels. I’m able to stand with a few inches of head clearance same as the original tunnel. My arms, outstretched, reach neither wall. I am disoriented. My internal compass cannot calibrate. Which tunnel do I take?

Holy shit, I realize I can see. There’s light from a burning torch propped in a wall notch. How did this get here? There are no footsteps on the soft ground. I pull it off the wall and step first into one tunnel then the other. I hear nothing but my breathing and a light trickle of water. Do I go with the flow or against the flow? I’ve always been an against the flow kind of guy. No need to deliberate. Water flows downhill. I want to ascend to the surface. I go against the flow.

I turn two bends and see a hole of light in the distance. I pick up my pace, drop the flaming torch, and am nearly running when I break out of the tunnel. I enter a light so forcefully bright, it knocks me flat on my back. I roll over to avoid the searing brightness. The ground is parched, cracked into a mosaic most chunks big as my hand. I pull myself up to my knees. Stunted corn with shriveled yellow-brown stalks extends for as far as I can see. Must be in the middle of a drought.

There is chanting behind me. I whirl around and discover I am kneeling before a stone structure of meticulously inlaid stonework, a man-made puzzle of stunning symmetry. The stones are much smaller than the rocks composing the pyramid but the workmanship is identical. It stands 2ish feet high. Three steps take one to the flat top. It appears to be a miniature of the great pyramid.

The chanting is from a lone priest standing on top. His eyes are dark as teak. They were all pupil and no iris or dilated to consume the pupil. Almost as if he is without a human soul.

He’s wearing a headdress of pheasant tail feathers. Some are natural, light brown bands separated by smaller, dark brown, almost black bands. Others are dyed red, green, and blue. They extend from is head outward similar to a peacock flashing feathers in a mating ritual. There’s an amulet around his neck. I can’t make it out clearly. He’s in an animal skin loincloth. It looks like the hide of a jaguar. The same hide is banded around his ankles to mid-calf. Leather sandals protect his feet.

Miztli with Blue Eyes

Behind him, a golden puma the gold of prairie grasses at sunrise is locked in a cage and pacing nonstop. The cage is built of wood, looks flimsy. Why doesn’t the puma push through the slats? It must have enough strength. It screams occasionally, a raspy scream sounding like the gates of hell have opened and a female demon is being skinned alive while simultaneously roasting on an open flame. Pumas eyes are pale blue, a warm blue with yellow trim and they are fixed on me, fixated on me. They never leave me even when screaming and exposing large canines.

In his right hand, the Priest holds a knife, a long knife of blackest obsidian glinting the sun hanging high in the cloudless, cerulean sky. He stands severe, eyes raised, arms outstretched to the heavens. Is the stone structure on which he stands an altar? If so, where’s the warrior for the sacrifice?

Footsteps approach from behind the patter of lots of footsteps. The priest lowers eyes and arms, looks into the distance over my shoulder. He is sweating yet the air is cool.

Is it the king’s army coming to sacrifice him for failing to summon rain from the gods? A priest unable to persuade the gods to give the gift of rain is not much use for an agrarian society. Perhaps he will be forced to cut his own heart from his chest? Will a priest finally get his comeuppance? It’s high time they paid for their sins.

I have an issue with priests and the organizations perpetuating the defective of the lot. By defectives, I mean those like the pedophile priests so long protected and hidden by the Catholic Church. As if wearing a white clerical collar automatically exempts them from paying for their horrendous crimes. They are men in places of authority and must be held to a higher standard than the laity because of their widespread influence. Instead, the Church chose, still chooses, to ignore the trauma of the children and move the bastard priests to places they could unleash more terror unchecked. Unconscionable. No…EVIL!

It’s not soldiers but common folk, men, women, and children in farmers clothing, little more than loincloths on all. Most are barefooted, a few wear sandals made of what appears to be corn husks. They gather on either side of me, behind me, drop to their knees in reverence when they stop. Some prostrate themselves. They chant, Tlaloc, in unison. Tlaloc, literally he who makes things sprout, is the Aztec rain god. They are petitioning Tlaloc for quiyahuitl, rain.

The priest has pulled on a mask with large round eyes and long fangs. He has become Tlaloc. My answer to who will be sacrificed is soon answered as a family, a husband, wife, and boy child about 5 years old walk to the altar. The family must watch the warrior be sacrificed up close? It seems unusually cruel not to mention traumatic to one so young.

Of course, I view this ancient ritual with modern eyes. My society is individualistic. We are an I society. The rights of the individual are paramount superseding the needs of the group. Others are collective. The needs of society trump the needs of the individual. Rules promote selflessness and sacrificing one to better the all. I have read, it was an honor to be the first warrior sacrificed to the gods by the priests. Who am I to judge how they choose to live.

The father grabs the boys hands, the mother his feet. They pick him up, pull on his limbs until he is parallel, lay him on his back holding tightly so movement from his struggles is minimized. I am horrified to see the priest kneel and raise the knife. The chanting grows louder. Tlaloc, TLALOC, TLALOC. The voices become a frenzy. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

I scream “Noooo” with all the volume I can muster. Either they cannot hear me or I am drowned out by the chanting. I look toward Puma. It is still fixed on me. Why can it see me but these people can’t? I try to stand and run to stop the madness but can’t move. My knees are rooted to the ground, tendrils extend from me into the cracks in the soil.

The priest drops the knife into the child’s chest. TLAAAAALOOOOC! He wiggles it around deftly, then reaches in and pulls out the heart.TLAAAAALOOOOC! He raises it toward the heavens and squeezes. Blood spurts from the severed arteries. TLAAAAALOOOOC! When the blood stops dripping, he takes a bite opening the chambers and turns it over ensuring the last drops of blood are bled. In my disgust, I cannot tell if the priest ate the part he bit off or spit it out. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The priest reaches behind, picks up an axe and lops off the child’s head in one blow. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The parents move the corpse to the side of the altar. They place the opening where the head hangs over the edge allowing the spilling blood to feed the earth. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

My stomach constricts. I feel the acid taste of vomit swelling in my throat. I heave but nothing comes out. I heave and heave. Nothing. I’m forced to swallow the vile liquid stuck in my throat.

Three additional sacrifices are offered in the same manner. One more boy and two petite girls. Are they small because the drought is long and food is scarce? All have been in the 5 to 10 year old range. The crowd has grown quiet. I wonder, is the carnage finished? I hope it is. I pray it is.

Everyone, the people, the priest looks my way. No. They are looking next to me at a family, couple and an infant, kneeling beside me. They stand up. Oh god, No! The infant is a ginger, a redhead with light, almost white skin. I am surprised. I didn’t know gingers existed in the Aztec universe. The mother places the child against her chest, the smiling cherub peers at me over the shoulder.

Holy Fuck! The infant is the spitting image of my childhood photos down to the cornflower, blue eyes. It looks exactly like me. Wait…No, no, NO! It doesn’t just look like me. It IS me. I am an Aztec infant about to be sacrificed. I don’t want to die. Hold on. Hold on! This can’t be me. I’m alive now. If I was killed, I couldn’t be alive. But Grandfather did say I had blood ties in the ancient New World. Could this be an ancestor? He also said I have many destinies. Could he be one of my manifestations? Is it a he or a she? too young to tell. Or did Grandfather say I have had many destinies? Or was the conversation about destinies past and future? I can’t recall.

The infant is outstretched on the altar. The parents are stoic. Are they drugged? Why aren’t they in agony? I would be fighting tooth and claw to prevent the pending insanity. Why aren’t they crying? How can they let this mad priest sacrifice their child to some mythological being and actually believe it will bring rain? This is fucked up. They are all brainwashed. I try to get up and stop the madness but the roots I have set won’t break free.

The instant the knife hits the child, I feel a stabbing pain in my chest like I am also being sliced open. I grab at the point of pain. My hand is instantly covered in warm pulsing blood. The priest pulls out the heart. I collapse to the ground, sense a void in my chest. He raises the organ to the heavens and the cloudless sky opens releasing a deluge. Rain from a cloudless sky?

The people leap to their feet, arms reaching to the skies shouting quiyahuitl, rain, and, Tlaloc, Tlaloc, Tlaloc. Puma pushes against the cage. The slats bulge. A loud thunderclap echoes, the slats splinter. Puma squeezes through. Miztli is free. The priest raises the ax and severs the infant’s head. Not even Christ had to suffer such an indignity.

The ground is too hard to absorb the water. The deluge becomes a flood, a land river. a mile wide and inches deep. My vision fades to a tunnel, a shrinking tunnel. I can’t move. My body rises with the swelling water, floats with the stream. What happened to my roots? A shadow hovers over me. Teeth grip my neck with just enough force to control my movement while not breaking the skin. I am being pulled. Am I going to be eaten? My vision goes black.

The River Cave

I come to consciousness in a cave. No idea how long I’ve been unconscious. My legs lay in a shallow rivulet. I sweep my mouth. No gold coin. I’m not dead. This is not the river Styx or maybe it is and Charon is waiting in the wings for death to complete its task then ferry me across.

“No, David. You are not dead.”

A voice? Who is talking to me? I look around. There is only Puma and me. It must be Puma that’s talking. I should be surprised but am not. I’ve experienced enough mysteries in the spirit world in the past year or so, an ancient ghost Grandfather, a talking Rattlesnake, a talking Gecko. And who knows how many spirits I failed to recognize. I seriously doubt anything can surprise me anymore. I don’t want to be rude here. “What shall I call you?”

“You may call me Puma or Cougar or Miztli whichever. You don’t really need to call me anything. We can easily communicate with our spirit minds. Words are unnecessary.” Puma is sitting stoically exuding the regal air of royalty.

“Spirit mind? I have a spirit mind? That means I am a spirit? Doesn’t that mean I am dead?”

“You have died many times. In this moment, you are alive. I can’t speak for future moments.”

“Alive in the earthly sense?”

“Yes, alive in the earthly sense. You are a living human being.”

“If it is all the same with you, I prefer we talk with words. I don’t want you wandering inside my mind. Hell, I get uncomfortable wandering inside my mind. I wouldn’t want to put that suffering on you.”

“As you wish. I will stay out of your mind. I, however, may revert to spirit mind. I have trouble correctly pronouncing words in your language. Thoughts are easier because they live outside the restricted confines of language.”

I stand up, move to higher ground, shake the water off my hiking boots. I’m feeling chilled in the cave’s coolness. The water exacerbates the chill. “That’s fine by me. Are you the same Miztli I saw at Teotihuacán?”

“That I am.”

I pat my chest. There is no blood. No wet blood. No crunchy dried blood. No evidence I bled at all. I feel the rhythmic beating of my heart. “Why did you not talk to me then? I tried. You purposely avoided me.”

Puma’s long wheat gold tail flicks in time with our conversation.

“It was neither the time nor the place. The Wanderers abhor sharing their spirit world with Europeans. If I had communicated with you, they would have raised a ruckus. There’s no need to inflame their agony. Five hundred years trying and failing to move to the afterlife has a way of deepening a grudge. They hold a might big grudge against your kind.”

“I wasn’t them. I had no part in the armageddon inflicted on the Aztec empire.”

“In the eyes of the Wanderers, all of you are guilty, all of you carry the spilt blood of the Aztec in your wretched souls. If they had the ability, they would wage a holy war against you not stopping until every white in your world suffered a similar living hell, forever shut outside the door to your heaven.”

“Grandfather said my bloodline runs through the original inhabitants of the Americas. I am one of them.”

“You are and you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will understand in good time. If not during your visit with me then during another of your destinies.”

“So, I have more destinies?”

“That was an assumption on my part. I am not a future seer like Grandfather.”

“Where are we?”

“We are in the Great Temple of Cholula.”

“I feared so. But, don’t you mean Great Pyramid?”

“To us, it is and always has been a temple. It is only you outsiders that call our temple a pyramid.”

“Why here? I don’t like being stuck in small places.”

“Had I left you outside, in your condition, you would have drowned.”

“Ya, but this is all imaginary existence.” Why can’t he comprehend simple logic? Is he a lesser spirit than Grandfather?

“If you died out there, you would also be dead in what you call ‘real life’ as well. Death does not distinguish between layers of existence. It merely collects.”

“What do you mean, my condition?”

“You were exiting consciousness. You and ancient baby you…”

“Shit! That was me? I thought it looked like. I didn’t think it actually was me.” Why did I lie? There’s no need. I saw into it’s…my…soul. I knew we were one.

“Yes. The two of you, all of the previous yous, current you, and future yous are interconnected by a diaphanous web. What happens in previous lives impacts the next life. And what happens in future lives ripples back altering past lives which, in turn, affects every future life. Neither the future nor the past is set in stone. The further events are separated the less the energy the ripple has to impart change. The distant ends are highly viscous, change is minimal but not null. Your current life is the locus with extremely low viscosity. Think of current you as flowing water history adjusting course with every experience.”

“And when the baby died?”

“When baby you died the two loci were dangerously close. Both were highly fluid. Baby you’s death was flowing into current you’s existence. You felt the pain in your chest. You were moving into unconsciousness and would have died with baby you. If not, then current you would have asphyxiated in the water. I intervened. By pulling you away, I separated the loci allowing both to assume their own destinies. By pulling current you to higher ground and this chamber, I prayed you would not drown before regaining consciousness before the rising waters also filled this chamber.”

“Prayed?”

“As I said, I don’t see into the future like Grandfather. I am here at his behest. His hand has helped guide you since the beginning.”

“Beginning? Beginning of what?”

“The beginning of the beginning. Grandfather is an original.”

“You mean a god?”

“Not a god. An intermediary between the gods and creation.”

“You said before the rising waters also filled this chamber?”

“Yes, the deluge started when baby you died is the storm to end all storms. It is unleashing more water than this land has seen in the combined past twenty-three years.”

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Not possible. The rising waters have already blocked the exits.”

“Then we are going to drown?”

“Not necessarily. Grandfather said, when the time is right, a way will appear. I trust the ancient’s wisdom.”

“So we wait?”

“Yes. We wait. There are no other options.”

Fixated on the conversation, I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings. The water is now calf deep. Miztli leaps to a higher ledge with an elegance a prima ballerina could never muster. The tail still slowly flicking from side to side, a metronome keeping time. Time for what?

Conversation exhausted, for now, we dwell in silence. I hear the burble of water flowing over submerged rocks, the plink, plunk of water falling from the ceiling into the pool that is quickly swelling. I am now knee deep. I look for an escape route. There is one low tunnel mostly filled with water, an inlet filling our chamber. Probably the one Miztli dragged me through. I realize there are no lamps on the wall, no overhead holes for outside light to filter in. I wonder out loud, “How the hell am I able to see? And why am I seeing everything in monochrome?”

“David, I am allowing you to see through my eyes. I figured your fear would spiral out of control if you could only see blackness.”

“Very true. Drowning while stuck in a cave is, like, my ultimate nightmare, so, thank you.”

“What is the light cloud I see around you?”

“When you see in color you see the physical person. Monochromatic vision allows one to also perceive a soul. A light cloud indicates a kind aura. A dark gray is the other end of the kind evil spectrum.”

The inflow from the tunnel increases in pressure. The water rises faster. It moves from knee deep to chest deep in a matter of minutes. Puma leaps to the last visible ledge, one so close to the ceiling he or she must move into a crouched pounce position to fit. The tail flicks noticeably faster. His tension is also increasing.

“Miztli, are you male or female?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I am male and female and third gender.”

I would purse the line further but the water has risen to my chin. I tippy toe and angle my head up for the last space of air. Miztli is getting wet too. Half his body is submerged. What to do? What to do? There’s nothing I can do. I’m losing balance in the rising water, I lean against the wall to steady myself. It feels flimsy. I push harder. It flexes ever so slightly. Another, more forceful push, a stone gives way and falls through. The water flows through knocking other stones loose. The hole widens.

“This is our escape,” Miztli says. “When this wall crumbles we will be caught in the torrent. Grab onto my tail with both hands and don’t let go. Let go and you will end.”

“What about you? You could drown, too.”

“I’m spirit. I’ll be ok. I’m not so sure about you. You better grab onto my tail now. The wall will collapse momentarily.”

I grab onto Miztli’s tail. It is softer than I expect and smaller in diameter. Holding onto it is difficult. It begins slipping. I loop it around in a circle tight enough to fit my hands. Miztli screams. Too late to redo my grip. The wall collapses and we are sucked through into a vortex. For one of the few times in my life, I am going with the flow.

Underground River

We are helpless in the rushing torrent. I cannot see, cannot control my body. I reassert my death grip on Miztli’s tail holding as if my life depends upon it because it does. Hopefully, the tail won’t break leaving me careening and bouncing my head off any submerged rocks or the rock walls. We twist and turn with the bends in the frigid river.

I am unsure if Miztli is directing us or has submitted to River intelligence taking us where we are supposed…are destined…to go. Which of my destiny lines are we traveling? Is it my line or Miztli’s line? Could this be an overlap of destinies? Are we on parallel destinies? If so, how long until we separate? I hope it is not until this crazy underground river journey comes to a peaceful end and I can lay under a warm sun to dry off.

Oomph! Damn rocks! I crash into and bounce off another something. Thankfully, most collisions are with surfaces softer than rock. Does that mean we have passed the boundaries of the pyramid? I want to open my eyes but worry the debris hitting my face will slice open my eyeballs. Unforgiving surfaces slam into me causing pain winces. I almost lose my tenuous grip on the tail. Is this what it feels like to go over a waterfall in a barrel? So far, none of the surfaces have felt sharp enough to pierce my flesh. But, I am so disoriented, so pumped with adrenaline I might not feel a gash, might not feel a severed limb.

We have been under for minutes? Longer? I can’t determine the duration. Time has lost meaning. How am I still conscious? I can’t have been under too long. My lungs are not burning from lack of oxygen. Then again, in this messed up between world, oxygen may be irrelevant. Am I spirit? Am I live? Am I Memorex?

The water grows warmer. Tropical. Red shadows play on my eyelids. Why aren’t we stopping? We’re not even slowing down. This would be a fun slip and slide if I were not so terrified. The water cools again, becomes uncomfortably chilly. Darkness embraces me. We slow down. There is smooth gravel beneath me, rocks worn by incessant water polishing their souls. Puma drags me onto a pebbly shore.

“David. You can open your eyes now and let go of my tail.”

I drop the tail. My hands are numb, legs wobbly. I ache all over from the rough and tumble ride. “Ok.” I open my eyes. I think I open my eyes. It’s black as pitch. “I can’t see anything.”

“Ah, yes. Human eyes. I will again allow you to see through mine.”

I pull myself to a sitting position, allow my vision to focus. “I…I can see now. I don’t think I will ever grow used to this monochromatic sight. It’s good for photography when I can adjust for colors but, real life, there aren’t any adjustment knobs. Where are we?”

“We are in a large cave system made by the river running at our feet.”

I smell a whisper of fresh air on the dank odor of the cave. The exit mustn’t be too far ahead. We are on a sandbar, no, a pebble bar. I stand, marveling at the great expanse of the cave’s interior. There are stalactites hanging from the ceiling, stalagmites growing from the floor. There are pillars where the two met. This must be an ancient cave. I cross an ankle-deep rivulet. The flowing water deposits tiny stones in my boots which work their way to the inner sole. I gingerly walk to a ledge along the wall, take a seat, and shake out my boots. There is something familiar about this cave. An undercurrent of fragrance I recognize. But from where?

Yum Kaax, the Maize God

It is then I see the Mayan fetish carved into the cave wall, the one my wife and I saw on our first trip to Belize. I wonder, is it Yum Kaax, the Maize god? We were in the jungle on a tubing trip inside a river caving system. It was the terminus of our route. The place we ate our lunch before the inner tube float back to the cave entryway. The guide told us the history of the fetish, how some Mayans sacrificed their firstborn under the belief their fecundity would soar resulting in the births of many additional children. Sacrifice the one for the many. If we waited here long enough, there was bound to be a tour group and I would be rescued. Did I need to be rescued? Are we really in the cave?

“Miztli, where are we?”

“We are in Yucatan.”

“Yucatan as in southern México?”

“In my world, there is no delineation by country. There is only mother Earth. To orient you, we are in the land you call Belize.”

A hear voices heading our way, voices and the splish splash of a paddle dipping in water. The rocks bounce sound carrying it quickly in these caves. I listen closely to the words. They are not Spanish or any other language I recognize.

“Miztli, what language are those people speaking?”

“They are speaking K’iche’, one of the Mayan languages.”

“Do you speak k’iche’?”

“As I told you, I am spirit. I have no need of language.”

I think I may have asked Miztli the wrong question. It is not where that is important. “Miztli, when are we?”

“We are in the time before the invasion of the Americas.”

“Is this before or after the sacrifices outside Cholula?”

“It is hard to say. Time in the spirit world is nonlinear. Before and after are irrelevant concepts. We exist at all points in time. I can’t accurately say if we are before or after Cholula. To me, they are the same time.”

I can see a halo from a torch bouncing off the cave walls and ceiling. The rhythmical splish splash of the oar grows louder, the voices clearer. Correction. The voice clearer. Only one person is speaking. The voice sings a repetition of sounds as if…as if…chanting?

A shallow dugout canoe paddled by a man slides onto the gently sloping sand and pebble shore. They are all standing in the canoe. How do they maintain balance with such ease? The chanter, who would turn out to be a priest, has a dark aura and stands in the front, the paddler, in the middle, and the woman in the rear both emit mid tone auras. I guess they, like most, beings are a mixture of good and bad.

The priest wears a plumed headdress of orange feathers standing in a half moon, vertical halo. Green feathers extended backward reminding me of a high knotted ponytail. He carries a staff. The top is carved into an animal, a demented jaguar or some other totem fetish I can’t figure out. A gold and turquoise pendant attached to what looks to be a deer hide lanyard hangs around his neck resting in the middle of his chest. It is exquisitely blue and polished to a sheen.

The priest exists first followed by the man and the woman who first bends down to gather a bundle. Food, I hope but, based on my Cholula experience, fear otherwise. The evidence confirming my fears was soon plain. The bundle was surrounded by an aura so light it appeared white. There was an innocent in the mix.

The woman is wearing a just past the knee length white skirt with a deeply notches circling the hem. The notches stop just before a horizontal golden band. Red lines crosshatch the dress forming a diamond pattern. He is in a white kilt with a red band just below the waist.

All three have strong Mayan noses, Roman in profile, tattoos. They are short by Western standards. The priest has raven’s whiskers tattooed on his face. The men are around five and a half feet, the woman under five. When they speak, they reveal teeth filed to points. It looks like two rows of jagged mountains with the peaks touching. Even in the torchlight, the whiteness is astounding.

The priest builds a fire. They must have brought the wood in the boat for there is no timber in the cave. The woman places the bundle on the natural rock shelf. There are corn stalks, ears of corn, and a baby, a very young baby. She picks him up. When she turns toward the fire, I realize he, too looks like me. I assume also a ginger but can’t tell in this colorblind state. Not again! But it may not even be me. I need to know so I inch closer. They are oblivious to my presence. I move closer yet for a better look. The torch throws a nimbus around the baby’s head. Shit! It is the spitting image of me. I twirl toward Miztli.

“Yes, David. This firstborn is you.”

“Firstborn? Wasn’t I also a first born in Cholula?”

“You have always been a firstborn, David.”

Another sacrifice? To what fucked up purpose? Absurd attempts to bend the gods wills to human wills? Assinine attempts to appease omnipotent deities? Are they to brainwashed to comprehend with omnipotence comes anything the god’s want? There is no need to trade a current life for rain or the potential for future children. Madness, all this, madness. Is ancient baby me nothing more than an oblation to appease a hungry god? Were my sacrificed lives atonements for the sins of others? None of this is right nor makes any logical sense. Religion and sensibility? Antonyms. Mutually exclusive concepts people hold in their heads denying the impossibility of coexistence.

“How many times, Miztli? How many lives have been a child sacrifice?”

“These two you’ve seen. A few more I can see scattered through your many past human manifestations.”

“Why me? Why was I chosen for sacrifice?”

“For reasons, I don’t know for sure. One possiblitity, you always return to life as a ginger. In this land, in all lands, you are an anomaly, a blue eye ginger in an ocean of brown eye ravens. So it has been with gingers through the ages. The people either fear or revere the extremely different. Albinos suffer the same curse. The fearful sacrifice because they are worried, the oddity, if allowed to exist, will bring bad luck upon the people. Better to destroy than risk potential suffering. The reverent trade the choicest diamond for a promise of future blessings.”

The chanting increases in pitch and cadence. I don’t want to look but can’t keep my eyes from watching. The burning fire emits a lovely scent reminding me of countless glorious evenings sitting around a campfire seeing flame reflections in smiling eyes moist from laughter. This may ruin fires for me forever. The priest walks in a circle around the couple waving a censer burning what smells like sweet sage. I have not seen sage in Belize. It must be a trade good from Northern peoples.

“What is the priest saying?”

“The priest is calling on the gods to accept a blood and burnt offering of a first born and return many child blessings on the couple that their line may not disappear from Earth.”

“Craziness!”

“Who can know the minds of the creator gods? What you are witnessing is a corn people’s belief. When an ear of corn dies, the seeds are scattered resulting in many more plants and a bountiful next harvest.”

“I…the baby me…is not corn.”

“No, but life is life is life.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only the gods can create life. All lives are valuable in the gods’ eyes. All lives exist to feed on and be food. In the end, it is simply a circle.”

“There’s no purpose in this insanity.”

“You are blessed with luck.”

“How is it lucky to be sacrificed as an infant?”

“Not all souls find another vessel to inhabit. Many are stuck between. To use your concept, a soul purgatory. You have, so far, been spared the non-existence existence. You have always found a suitable vessel to carry you through the four life cycles described by Grandfather.”

“I remember. He said I was in the fourth cycle, the final cycle before liberation.”

“Few, relative to the population, progress as far as you have. Many get stuck in one cycle for eternity never learning enough to shift. By being sacrificed pure, your soul was given a choice for the next vessel.”

“A choice?”

“Yes, a choice. Those who die after the age when they understand right from wrong must atone for their sins, pay for their crimes against creation.”

“A kind of Karma?”

“Yes. The baby you being sacrificed chose the Aztec vessel sacrificed at Cholula. Both were sacrificed why still sinless allowing the choice of positive energy vessel making phase shifts more likely. The positives have greater knowledge and shift the phases more easily.”

“So, I was sacrificed in Belize followed by Cholula.”

“Time is nonlinear, sometimes circular, frequently erratic. It is just as likely you were sacrificed first in Cholula then Belize. In circular time, you were sacrificed in Cholula before and after Belize and in Belize before and after Cholula. In spirit time, both sacrifices occurred simultaneously.”

“Crazy!”

“Only crazy because you exist in physical life. When you finally finish the fourth phase, transcend to spirit, and exist at every point in time, it will make sense.”

“So I will transcend?”

Miztli smiles, whiskers twitch, says nothing.

“¿Miztli?”

“It is my understanding, you are on your way, that it is one of your possible destinies. Remember, only being a present, past seer, I can’ know for sure. But, Grandfather has given you special attention so I expect you will achieve spirit existence. Or Grandfather likes playing games meaning there is a distinct possibility you are stuck.”

“What is the stuck between, soul purgatory you mentioned?”

“All in good time, David.”

“Is not all time good, Miztli?”

“Yes.”

“Then now is a good a time as any so tell…aah!” A hot pain sears into my chest cavity.

The priest places the heart on top of the Mayan fetish then throws the still twitching corpse into the fire. My eyes burn as if touched by habanero oil. My skin sizzles. Puma grabs me and drags me into the river separating the life ripples between me and baby me from interfering with each other.

The water is thick, tastes of blood. Why couldn’t it be wine? I can’t breathe. Struggling, I grab Miztli by the nape to steady myself, find a way to the surface. A great surge as if a dam has burst slams into us breaking my hold on Miztli. I am thrown about like a rag doll, tumbling head over heels. Blackness engulfs me. I fear my premonitions, my reoccurring dreams that I’m fishing in still waters with my dad, have come true and I am dead again.

Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

After another long body numbing journey rendering me completely disoriented, I surge upward until I’m thrown clear of the waters and crash back down onto a muddy embankment. I lay still dappled by the sun filtering through verdant leaves in what appears to be a jungle. But where exactly am I? And what has happened to Miztli? I scan the area.

There are paths radiating from the pool. They are all too narrow to have been made by humans, probably the natural outcome of small animals sneaking in for water under cover of night. I pick the one lined with the most colorful flowers to explore. I’m thankful for the return of color vision for I love being bedazzled by colors. But wish I still had the ability to detect a person’s aura. I don’t know who I will encounter wherever I am. Knowing if they are bent toward good or evil would be helpful in choosing to trust or flee.

The foliage is canopied 3 feet over the trail. Too low for me without crawling. I force my way through suffering the slapping of tree branches and small cuts on my legs, face, and arms. The sound of scampering feet is in front of me. They stop then start when I get near moving off a short distance. The leaves prevent me from seeing what type of animal I’m spooking. Strange that it would not just flee far, far away. I fight the attacking branches for another fifteen sweaty minutes before breaking into a clearing nearly devoid of leaves. I drop to my knees and plant my head on the cool ground. Oh, that feels good. But it smells musty.

When the coolness of earth seeps into me, I right myself to a kneeling position which doesn’t last long because my knees ache when deeply bent. It’s painful to raise myself from a squat. I grab a thin tree using it to pull myself into a standing position. When fully erect, I’m staring directly into the face of a weathered, plastic doll. It’s naked, bald, pink, and blue-eyed. The left leg is broken off at the knee leaving jagged plastic exposed.

I jump back. There are more. A black hair rag doll above, another plastic doll, headless lower on the tree. I whirl around almost falling in the process. There are dolls in all the trees. Some are tied, others nailed, still, others wedged between branches. Naked dolls. Clothed dolls. A spiderman doll. A construction worker doll. Stuffed animals, too. I want to run but every which way is blocked by this army of grungey dolls.

Doll Island

Doll Island

Doll Island

“Where the HELL am I?” I scream.

“David, you are at one of the Islas de las muñecas.”

“Miztli? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“We are outside the spirit realm. I’m only visible in the spirit realm.”

“This is real? This is sickening? How is it you can talk? Can you and see me?”

“I can see you.”

“What is this muñecas place?”

“Remember when I told you, you were lucky to find vessels so quickly?”

“Yes.”

“This island is filled with the souls not so lucky as you. This is their purgatory.”

“Purgatory as in the intermediate state after physical death where souls await expiatory purification?” I find it enjoyable showing off my school smarts.

“No. That is another case of organized religion usurping a spiritual state and applying their own irrelevant concepts in an erroneous attempt to explain.”

“Then, please explain it to me.”

“The beings you see here…”

“Beings…you mean they are not dolls?”

“Yes and no. The beings you see here are awaiting suitable conditions for their next birth.”

“This feels like an island of misfit toys.”

“Most are societal misfits. This island is populated primarily with those who committed evil in their previous lives. The vessels they have tried to enter rejected them. Those with a positive aura quickly find a new vessel. The evil must wait.”

“So, the vessels are not simply births yet to be?”

“Correct. Both the vessel and the soul are spirits. They combine to be a new being in birth. Each can reject the other. Vessels look for souls with a pure aura that will, hopefully, enable them to maintain their physical integrity outside senseless violence. Souls are less finicky. They prefer one of the few vessels likely to be born to a life of leisure but will settle for significantly less. You see, it is the soul that determines the goodness or badness of the birthed being. So, a bad soul will choose a substandard vessel with the ultimate goal of achieving power and wealth by whatever means it takes.”

“Freaky!”

“Some of the souls on this isla have, over time, deeply meditated on their ways and migrated away from evil toward goodness so there are some with lighter auras. They are few for a jaguar almost never changes their spots. They are more likely to combine with a vessel. Of course, some revert back to evil so the vessels are leary and play it safe. Some of the souls have dwelt here for ages.”

“Is Cortés here?”

“Yes, along with many of the marauding invaders.”

“And the dolls?”

“The dolls are put up by the locals to trap evil. The souls see the dolls then, thinking they are available vessels, crawl inside and wait for rebirth. If they were not waiting in the vessels they would scour the countrysides looking for a living vessel to steal. There are rare instances when stealing is possible.”

“There does not seem to be enough dolls on the island to hold the world’s evil.”

“This is one of many doll islands in México. Still, you are correct, there are not enough. Evil continually leaks into the physical world. If it’s not leaking then new evil is generating. The nefarious activities of humanity are never-ending. Just when we think America is on a positive path, racists of all colors ooze from their slime committing heinous acts.”

“Yes. I do live in a corrupt world.”

“Do not think you are immune. Every time you look the other way, every time you don’t speak up when you see a person being shamed, you are complicit in creating space for evil to flourish. You are part of the problem, David.”

Ok. This was getting uncomfortable. I knew I wasn’t perfect but am not in the mood to have it thrown in my face. Come to think of it, there’s never a time when I like my foibles given voice. I need to smoothly change the topic. “How do the locals know to put up the dolls?”

“In days long past, there were powerful empaths with insights into the spirit world. They placed straw dolls to fool the souls. There are very few powerful empaths living today but the custom has become deeply rooted and the locals continue the tradition believing the dolls have the power to trap ghosts. The souls are not actually trapped, just fooled into believing birth is imminent. They don’t leave for fear they won’t find another vessel willing to accept them.”

“Why do all souls congregate here?”

“They do not. It’s common practice to put dolls out in yards, on verandas, in windows to catch the ghosts. When they believe one has been caught, the dolls are brought here because souls are unable to cross the water.”

“That’s a silly superstition.”

“No. It is true. The souls are incompatible with water. Once here or any of the islas, they are stuck until they encounter a vessel or hitch a ride on a living empath.”

“I guess, I can’t see the auras because I’m not an empath?”

“Almost correct. You are weak in your empathic abilities, still, stronger than most.”

“Hmmm…you’ve had me in spirit realms twice today. Why can’t you help me see these?”

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

“This place is laden with evil. Seeing strong evil even in aura form has a way of damaging the human psyche. I’m not sure you have strength enough to protect yourself.”

“I want to try. If I feel any discomfort whatsoever I’ll shut my eyes and you can disconnect from me.”

“I warn you, the damage inflicted can come quick.”

“You will be inside my head. You can use your attuned spirit to protect me.”

“Ok. As you wish. Close our eyes.”

“Close them? But I want to see.”

“Once I have bridged our minds, you may open them. It is easier if you’re not distracted.”

“Gotcha, boss.” I close my eyes and wait one minute, two minutes. I feel nothing. Was Miztli messing with me?

“No, I am not. Open them slowly and remember, if anything feels out of place, slam them shut.”

I open them a sliver but am unable to make out anything beyond the blur of my eyelashes. Fuck it. I open them wide. Color is gone. That’s still a freaky feeling. The dolls have auras. All of them are deep black, black so black all light is absorbed. It feels like my energy is being siphoned out of my body. I become light-headed. I grab onto a tree to keep from falling and close my eyes until balance is restored.”

“Are you ok, David?”

“Um…sure…I’m ok.”

“I reopen my eyes and look around.” They black auras seem to be energized, little sparks light them up. The dolls start moving. “Miztli, the dolls…”

“What about the dolls?”

“They…they are moving.”

“They’re moving. How are they moving?”

“They all turn their heads, the ones that have heads, the ones with eyes are staring at me. I’m getting scared.”

“David, quickly close your eyes.”

I try to shut them but they are stuck like they are propped open with little sticks as in the old cartoons. “I can’t. I CAN’T”

“I’m disengaging from you. Hold on a moment. There. We are separate again.”

I feel a pop like when a wine cork is freed from the bottle. “Um…I can see color and I can see the auras. How can I see both? I thought you said that was not possible.”

Miztli paces frantically keeping himself between me and the closest dolls. “I said it was only possible for very strong empaths. This is not good. Worse. This is bad. You must be stronger than I believed possible.”

“Miztli, the dolls are climbing down from the trees. A couple are hobbling. One without legs is crawling. They are coming toward me!” A zombie apocalypse of dolls is coming for me. Are the flesh eaters? Are they soul eaters? What happens to a soul eaten by evil zombie dolls? Would I too become evil? Would I be stuck on this island until finding a suitable vessel?

Escape

“Listen closely. There must be more to your spirit than I am able to sense. Whatever it is, it has disturbed the souls. They, in turn, have animated the dolls. The only explanation is they see you as a way off this island.”

“Shit!”

“When I tell you, you need to run as fast as possible back to the pool through which we entered. Don’t look back. Don’t stop no matter what you hear or feel. You got that?”

“Y…yes.”

“Dive into the pool and swim down the throat as far as possible. You will come to a lip. Swim horizontally beneath the island until you are past the edge. Then swim upward angled away from the island. You will pop up in the waterways of Xochimilco. There are many boats traveling the canals. One of them will surely take you in.”

“What about you? I can’t leave you behind.”

“I will keep the dolls from following you. I’m spirit not physical. They can’t hurt me. I’ll be ok.”

I run back along the path I took to the clearing. It is easier this time with the branches I broke on the way in. Still, running is a challenge. Roooaarrrr. Miztli is screaming. Is it pain or a diversion. I want to go back and help but She said not to. There are black auras in my peripheral vision. They are coming. How fast can they move? Roooaarrrr. I can’t wait to find out and run faster and longer than I have since my soccer playing days. When I think I can’t take another step the forest clears.

I’m at the pond. My hiking boots won’t do for swimming. I squat and fumble finger the laces until I can kick the boots off. I hate to lose these. The plants are rustling. I consider removing my pants but half nakedness will be hard to explain to anyone rescuing me. The pond is not wide, about my body length. I dove in shallow water as a kid and hit bottom. I was lucky not to break my neck. I dive in. No resistance. I’m in the throat. I should be safe now but can’t be sure. The adrenaline is in high gear driving me into the dark depths.

I cannot see. Navigation requires reaching out to the wall and feeling for the lip. I’m not a strong swimmer. I don’t know how long I can hold out. The wall ends. I turn left and kick like a mad man probing the top with my fingers searching for the end. The bottom of the island is not smooth like the throat through which I descended. Something sharp slices into a finger. I pray its only exposed tree roots and not a colony of snaggle tooth critters with a hankering for warm flesh. I use quick slaps with my knuckles to test if I’m still under the island. The first time, I hit nothing I angle 45 degrees and shoot for the surface.

My lungs are burning. I need oxygen. How much further? Is it possible to die without sucking in lungs full of water? If I don’t breathe will I pass out then float to the surface? No. I will probably inhale and drown. My mind starts fading. I kick frantically, pump my arms doing my best to claw my way to the surface. I break through and suck in fresh air too fast. My mind sees black spots. After that, things get hazy.

I vaguely remember someone calling, “Señor! Señor! ¿Necesitas ayuda?”

I think ayuda means help. “Sí. Sí.” I respond. I am pulled into a colorful boat and throw up before passing out.

Cholula Pyramid

“David.” The voice sounds muffled as if my ears are under water. But, I’m dry. I’m laying on my back on a very hard, uneven surface. The horizon is dimming to red. I don’t smell any water.

Sunset From Cholula Pyramid

Cholula Pyramid Stairs

“What are you doing in there, David? That area is off limits. Didn’t you see the fence?”

I pull myself to a sitting position. Look around. I’m outside Cholula. Cholula? And I’m on the mini-pyramid where the kids…where young David and the kids…were sacrificed to bring rain. How did I get here?

“David. You need to get out of there. It’s off limits. Get out before security throws you out and we all have to leave. I want to see the rest of the temple grounds.

“Uh…Ok.” My boots are next to me. I pull them on, lace ’em up, tie ’em snug. It’s much easier when terror is not running through the fingers. I hop off the pyramid, walk over to my wife and our friends.

“How did you get out here ahead of us? I didn’t see you pass us in the tunnel.”

“I took a different way, the uphill tunnel we saw.” A half-truth. To tell her the whole truth would be received as a full lie. To tell her I had another spirit world experience would do nothing more than raise her ire. I was able to talk her out of an MRI last time. The thought of being in one of those machines is scary. I doubt I could talk her out of it again. She thinks I have cancer.

“But that was gated.”

“The gate wasn’t locked so I took a side excursion.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She’s not good at hiding her feelings. I can see the annoyance in her knitted brow. We are with friends so nothing will be discussed now. She smiles and we continue our excursion.

What’s Next?

The trip did not end here. We visited another Pyramid, spent time walking the Puebla Zocalo. It’s a beautiful, relaxed city. But there was not a sign of Miztli anywhere.

Puebla Street

Puebla Cathedral

Puebla Cathedral

Sign in Puebla Zocalo

Door

Doors

Street: Cinco de Mayo

Yellow Building

Me Against a Wall in Puebla

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Pyramid

Pyramide

View from Pyramid

View Up Pyramid

Pyramid & Clouds

Pyramid Stairway

Excavated Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Cinco de Mayo Square

Cinco de Mayo Square

I spent those last days lost. My last experiences in the spirit world concluded with a foretelling of a next step in my destiny of destinies. When I first met, Grandfather in New Mexico, he foretold of a trip to the Philippines. There I met Tukó who informed me I was on a vision quest. When I returned to New Mexico, Grandfather foretold the vision quest would continue with a trip to  New Mexico where I would meet Puma. Puma, though, told me nothing about my future. True, he said he was a past seer, not a future seer so would not have the future sight. So, I wonder, is this the end of my vision quest?

“Rooaar.”

    Puma & Pirámides in Old México This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts.